City Boys
by Draco's Secret Lover
Summary: Spot-Story. Not a Romance, just cause I've read so many Spot romances...Boy meets Girl. Girl hates Boy. Boy dosen't give a s***.Girl must put up with him. Spot gets beat up and left for dead by the Delancy brothers. PG-13 for language.
1. Before You Begin...

This is all the pretty lawyer stuff so that I don't have to write it onto every page because then I'd forget and someone might try to sue me and then they'd get my pretty multi-colored floppy disks because that's al I have that's worth anything and then my life would pretty much be over because I have no life pretty much and all I ever do is write stories and then I save them to the floppy disks so if someone takes them away I won't know what to do with my life except to ponder those silly questions like why there is a pink color kid but not an orange one and why did Ariel's hair look so perfect even when it was wet and why you people are actually still reading this because if it was me I wouldn't because I would have gotten tired of it and gone on to the actual story right after I read the first line because I happen to be a very impatient person and this is not the thing that I wanted to read when I clicked on the link so I just can't understand why you're still here and really all I just wanted to say was that the Newsies and all the recognized stuff in my story are Disney's and that the things that weren't in the movie are mine and I guess that's really all I wanted to say so I will talk to you all when you review! Right? 


	2. It Could Be A Trap...

CITY BOYS  
  
Silently stepping behind a parked wagon, Spot Conlon looked to see who was following him. Six grown men, two of them the Delancey brothers, came into view. The other four, Scabs it looked like, looked around for him, then lowered their weapons. One said, "We loist im, Morris."  
  
"Shut it, stupid. E's ere somewheah's. E's just hidin."  
  
"Yeah, Morris. We'll get im." Another of the Scabs spoke up.  
  
'Aw, hell.' Spot thought. 'What the Hell have I gotten meself into? I shoulda listened to Jacky-boy dis toime.' Spot recalled how serious Jack had looked when he had told him not to go.  
  
"I been hearin things, Spot. Bad things. I'se been hearin dat da Delancey bruddahs is out fa blood. Youah blood."  
  
"Come on, Jacky-boy! Dey's allays someone out fer me blood! I'se used ta it."  
  
"Lemme go wid you'se den."  
  
"Dis is summin I'se gotta do meself."  
  
"Spot, be reasonable! How can you be sure this is the real thing? Until you got that letter, you had no clue what happened to you family."  
  
"Look, Mouth. If you'de got a leddah like dis about youah famly,about Sarah, you'de go, wouldncha?"   
  
"That's not the same thing and you know it. My family has always been together. And for all you know, this Lacey Conlon could be a prank by the Delancey's to get you to come out there by yourself. And you're playing right into it."  
  
"I'm goin, Mouth. And there's nothing you'se can do ta stop me."  
  
A loud crash jerked Spot back to the present. The scabs had thrown a barrel into an alley to see if Spot was hiding in there. It hit the fire escape, and potatoes went all over the sidewalk. Spot started to panic. The Delancey were getting closer, and there was nowhere to run to without getting caught. The scabs had cut off all his escape routes. He gripped his cane tighter and tried to make himself smaller under the wagon. He wished he had let Jacky-boy and Mouth come with him. He was a good fighter, the best in New York, apparently, but the odds were one to seven. Not good. 'Well, if I'm goin down,' Spot thought, 'I'm gonna take a few down with me.'  
  
With that, Spot crawled out from behind the wheel. He silently crept up behind two of the biggest scabs and knocked them out before they even knew he was there. They dropped to the ground without even crying out. Spot smirked, and moved on.  
  
He knocked out one who was in an alley alone, and then crept up behind two more. He drew his cane back like a baseball bat and took another step foreward.  
  
Oscar Delancy spun around before Spot could swing. "Hey Morris! We'se got im!" 'Dis ain't good.' Spot thought. Spot swung at Oscar, but was grapped behind by Morris and the other scabber. Within a few minutes, the twop scabbers had Spot pinned to the ground with the Delancey brothers on top of him.  
  
They had beat him unconscious with in five minutes, and then for a bit longer, just for good (bad?) measure. Oscar got up first, then hauled Morris up after one last punch to the stomach. "Allight, boys. Pick im up." He ordered.  
  
One scabber grapped Spot's arm and yanked him up so that it almost looked like he was standing on his own, except that his head lolled foreward, chin to chest. The other ran off in the direction that they had all come from and returned a few moments later with a wagon pulled by two horses. Morris went off in search of the three missing scabs, and returned telling that they were down for the count. Oscar cursed, then climbed into the driver seat of the wagon, shoving the guy who was there on to the ground. "Throw im in." He commanded. The scabber who had Spot threw him unceremoniously into the back, which happened to be full of hay and garbage. Spot's gold-tipped cane rolled under the wagon, on top of an official looking document from the city of New York. Morris climbed up next to Oscar, and the other two sat on the back, in case Spot woke up on the way. It was gonna be a long drive.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
So, should I continue it? And do you think I should continue to right out the accents? It's pretty weird trying to write dialect that you've only heard in a movie before, so I don't know if it's right or not. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!  
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	3. A Potato?...

(Author's Notes-I wanted to thank my reviewers-Blondy Bear, Rae Kelly, Panda Butt , and baby309blue --. Here's a chocolate chip cookie for you all!)  
  
  
  
  
Jack Kelly went over to the window for the third time in the past ten minutes. He wrung his hands together nervously, but trying not to let it show. "Jack. Cowboy. Come back ovah heah an sit down. Whaddaya tink Spot'll say when he fin's out dat you been wachin fer im?" Racetrack took a cigar out of a cup be side his bed and put it into his mouth. "Sides'," he started, barley understandable, "We's startin apokah game an we needs someone dat's got moah money dan da res' of us do."  
  
"Play wid Davey. E was jus in da oddah room. I tink I jus wanna take a liddle nap, or sumtin."  
  
"Jack. Are you suah you'se alight?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm suah, What, you tink I'se lyin to ya's?"  
  
"Cowboy, Davey left ovah an houah ago. You'se was stanin righ' theah when he said bye an den he says to send a runnah if Spot got back tonight. Remembah?"  
  
"He did? You suah?"  
  
"Go take a nap, Jack. If you'se is dat worried bout Spot, Me'n Mush an' mebbe anuddah one a da boys'll go look fer im. He prolly won' be too happy we's looking, though, so I'se'll tell im dat it ws youah idea.  
  
"Yeah, dat soun's good ta me."  
  
"An den I'll bring im back heah, unless he want's to go ta Medda's."  
  
"Yeah, alight, Race. Go ahead." Jack was back to staring out the grimy window.  
  
Race took the cigar out of his mouth and cocked his head. "An' den maybe Ill jus take youah money out from undah you'se pillow an' spen' it at da races tomorrah."  
  
"Yeah." Racetrack shook his head and put the cigar back in his mouth. He grabbed Jack's shoulder and pushed him across the room to his bunk. Then he went downstairs and told Kid Blink and Specs to go up and make sure he stayed there. He went to the poker table, a stack of crates nailed together over in the corner behind the stairs, and told all present that they were going out to find Spot. They threw down their cards and stood up. Race looked to see who was there, happy to see that one of them was his best friend, Mush. The rest, Snipeshooter, Fox, Jumper, and Puppy. The first to come over, besides Mush, of course, was Snipeshooter. He had become friends with Spot during the big strike the year before and was one of the few who knew where he had set off to.   
  
Out of the other three, only one of them had talked to Spot before. Fox was the newest runner for the Mannhatten newsies. He was named for his quick thinking, quick running, and dark reddish-brown hair. He stood up and ,in his thick southern accent said, "Hey, I'd be happy to go which ya's." Race motioned to him to come on and then looked at the other two. They knew of Spot, of course, but had never really talked to him. They had both come to New York only two weeks prior. They were brother, both with white-blonde hair and a tall, gangly sort of build. They looked enough alike to be twins, despite their two year difference. The only way that the newsies had to tell them apart for sure was their eyes. Jumper, named for his love of train-jumping, had bright blue eyes. Puppy had big brown eyes, which he used to use when begging food from strangers.   
  
The brothers looked at each other, then stood as one. Jumper, being the older of the two at age fifteen, said in the barely-there Irish accent, "We're with you." Race nodded, then turned on his heel and headed out the door into the balmy April night.   
  
The group headed towards the East Side, which was where Spot's letter had told him to go. 'All di foah a damn non-existent fambly.' Thought Race, as he thought of the look on the face of the usually emotionless-except-for-anger Brooklyn leader. 'But he looked so happy at foist, befoah he got to da end wheah it said she was dyin'.' Race frowned, and handed his cigar to Snipeshooter. "Heah ya go, Snipes. I'll just 'steal anuddah'."  
  
Snipeshooter accepted it happily. He hadn't had one for about a day and a half and the craving were staring to get to him. But he knew that Race was lost in thought, or he would've never given it up. He also knew that he would probably never get another free cigar and wasn't so moralistic (A/N-is that even a word? I dunno, it sounds good.) as to pass up an offer like this. The group of six came to a place in one of the back streets, usually traveled only by vendors, scabbers and that sort. They were joking about Race and Mush's recent cavorting around the tracks, not paying attention to where they were walking, when suddenly Puppy fell face foreward on the sidewalk. Groaning, he rolled over and sat up. Fox knelt down to see what he had tripped over, then held something up to look at it better in the lights coming out of the building behind them, a puzzled expression on his face. He said, "A potato?"  
  
All the boys knelt down to see if that was what it really was. "Why da 'ell is deah a buncha patata's in da street?" Mush said. Fox, green eyes sparkling, threw his potato at Jumper. Jumper threw one back at him and all the boys were soon heavily involved in a potato fight. They were at it for a good five minutes, when Puppy fell again, this time into the street. His shoe came off when he flew backwards off the sidewalk and landed near an old wagon with a busted axle. He limped over, trying to keep his shoe-less foot of the glass-and-god-only-knows-what-else covered streets, and sat down to put it back on. He began to stand up, then froze.   
  
"Pup? Hey, Puppy?" Jumper started. Worried about his little brother. Puppy didn't seem to even notice Jumper's voice and the other's became worried. Race and Mush looked at each other and knew that they were both thinking about Crutchy, one of the nicest newsies they'd ever met. About six months prior, Crutchy had been at his favorite selling spot, the harbor, when a runaway carriage knocked him over. He hit his head on a trunk that was waiting to be loaded onto a ship and had gotten a huge gash. It bled for hours, and the newsies [pooled their money to take him to the doctor. By the time they got there, Crutchy was completely out of it. He didn't answer, didn't focus his eyes on anything, didn't even move on his own, except to shiver. The doctor later told them that that was from the blood loss. When the doctor finished examining him, he had come back out to the waiting room, frowning deeply.   
  
"I'm very sorry boys, but your friend took a very bad fall. I'm not sure he'll be able to pull through." He went on to tell them a little more, but most had faded out of reality. The ones who were still listening were the ones that were too young to really understand, like Davey's brother Les. They didn't understand what the Doctor was saying, and didn't ask him to explain. They boys neglected to sell the next day, instead opting to stay with Crutchy up till the end.   
  
"Puppy?" Mush nearly yelled, voice full of worry. He and Jumper ran over to him, one on each side, and knelt down. He was staring under the wagon, at something on the other side. Both older boys looked, and were frozen just the same. Race and Fox raced over to see what they were seeing, and froze themselves. On the opther side of the wagon was a letter, no longer crisp and white as it was the last time they had seen it, and an unmistakeable black and gold cane, both lying in a puddle of dark red liquid. Blood.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Well? What do you think about this chapter? Good? Awful? Give me your opinion in this lovely little box and I'll give you a cookie (::). See? It's chocolate chip! Sorry about Crutchy, if you liked him and are like, oh, jeez, what a bitch! She killed Crutchy! Well, you're wrong. I didn't do it. The damn trunk did. And then, it ran and hid in the ship and skipped off to Italy, or somewhere like that and was never caught. It was a clear cut case of thump-and-sail. ;)  
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	4. I'm not a cat...

Okay, here's the next chap. But something has drastically changed! I now own everything Newsies and everything else in the whole world! You know how I know this? My rice crispies told me so. They also told me that I'm a silly git who believes everything anyone tells me, but I think they might've been joking on that one. Because all they've ever told me is that I'm the owner of everything. What do you think they meant by it?  
  
  
Also, words like this* with the * are meant to be in italics.  
  
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Savannah urged her poor tired horses back onto the road. It had taken nearly three hours to get the new wheel on. She'd had to load everything off the wagon firsst, and then when she was done, she had to put it all back on. By the time she was finished with all that, she was so mad at those city boys that she probably could've soaked them all five at once. Well, she couldn't have * actually * soaked them, but she sure wanted to.  
  
"Come on, girls," she encouraged the horses ", It's only a little further." She drifted off into her thoughts, as traveling this road was as akin to her as her own home. Savannah lived only three miles further down the road, on a small, four acre farm. Her grandfather had purchased the lot way back when he immigrated from England, and had built the old farm house himself. It had passed on to her father, his only child, after his death, fourteen years later. Her father had worked hard, buying another acre from the neighboring farmer, before his own death in a freak accident when Savannah was only twelve. Three years after that, her mother, the community school teacher, had contracted a wasting disease from one of her pupils. It was nearly a week before she really started feeling ill, and by then, it had been passed on to each of her own five children. Daniel, Savannahs youngest brother, had died only two weeks after, leaving a gaping hole in the hearts of the whole family. Her mother gave up hope then, and wasted away only days after. Her two sisters had gone next, then Savannah had started to feel better. Her and her older brother, Matthew, her last remaining relative, had thought that she was going numb from grief.   
  
That didn't make much sense as of later, when Savannah was actually well enough to get out of bed on her own. The neighbor her father had bought land from, Mr. Chappelow, and his wife Nellie, decided that she was better and could take care of her brother and herself. They went back to their own home, and left a fifteen year old Savannah and her sixteen year old seriously ill brother alone. While Savannah got better, Matthew got worse. He fought it as long as he could, forcing himself to get up and to eat more. All in vain, however when he fell asleep one night and never woke back up. Savannah blamed herself.  
  
She shook herself and wiped away the tear that was threatening to spill over. "I don't cry." She told herself. She rounded the next bend and was forced to pulloff the road once again, as the wagon that had passed her earlier was right in the middle of the road. She slowed, curiosity getting the better of her. She smiled to herself, as she remembered a time before Daddy had died, when she and her mother had come upon something much the same, an abandoned wagon, discarded into the brush. She had gone over, and her mother had said, 'You do realize, Savannah, that curiosity killed the cat.' Savannah had turned around and said innocently, 'But Mother. I'm not a cat.'  
  
But there was no Mother telling her to move along this time and she could look all ahe wanted. The boys were gone, so she got out of her wagon to have a closer look. She couldn't believe what she saw. Those poor horses were lying dead, from exhaustion, she supposed, all tangled up in their harnesses. She moved closer, and saw that one of the horses hhad actually been shot. She wondered if that one had died before or after they had fallen. She cursed the boys, using surprising creativity for a 'lady' as she supposed she was supposed to be. She silently reminded herself to send message to the police when she got back home.  
  
She checked the wagon itself then, and almost laughed when she saw that there was nothing wrong with it at all. "Stupid City Boys! If it was my wagon, I wouldv'e tried to pull it myself before leaving it like this!" She began to go back to her horses, but stopped suddenly. She thought she had heard something, but there was nothing now. 'Stop being silly!' she chided herself. But then there it was again. It was someone moaning quietly, like they were having a bad dream. 'Could someone be out there?' She was beginning to be frightened now. Had those boys really left, or were they all still there, waiting in the trees that lined the road opposite where she stood. Her mind was racing, going through all the horror stories she had heard about what can happen to girls all alone. The moaning came again, a little louder. She almost tripped over her own feet as she turned and raced back to her wagon. She climbed up and fumbled with the reins before she heard it again. This time, it sounded like the person was hurt. Curiosity got the better of her once again and she sat there to see if she'd hear it again. 'Mother was right.' She said in her head. 'Curiosity did kill the cat.' She tried to find with her eyes where the moaning was coming from, but she couldn't.  
  
Standing up on the buck board, she was able to see more. When the moaning came one last time, she was able to place it in the run-off ditch, between the tree line and the road. Was it someone hurt by the boys? Was it one of the boys? Were they hurt when the hoses had died? Or was it something else entirely? She sat back down and tried to tell herself to just ignore it and go home. The bulls could deal with whatever it was when they got there. She looked back over, and saw a slight movement in the ditch. 'Dammit. I just had to see them, didn't I.' Now that she had actually seen something, she couldn't walk away. She was a farm girl, crude, and alone, but she had a very strict moral code. And right now she hated the darned thing for not letting her drive away. She rolled her eyes and got back on to the ground, grabbing a horse shoe out of the back, just in case.  
  
She crept nervously around the boys wagon, then raised her arm, holding the horse shoe as a weapon. She reach the point where she could see the person, and swallowed hard. She stepped closer as the person moaned again, and rolled over, finally awake. She recognized him as the third boy from the back of the wagon, the one who had been passed out. Her eyes widened and she stepped back as he sat up. She gasped out loud as the moonlight fell across his face. (Ack! That could* be interpreted as a corny romance line! Thank ye Gods that this fic is NOT ROMANCE!! ~Author) He looked like shit. His eyes were both swelled, one so bad he couldn't open it, and both his lips were split. His cheeks were one large mass of bruising and red marks, and it looked like his nose was broken. This was quite obviously not* done by the horses dying.   
  
He struggled to sit up, and she saw that his shirt was soaked with blood. She dropped the horseshoe and rushed to his side. He jerked away from her touch, swinging his fist at her. She dodged easily; He was very slow from being injured. She stepped over so he could see her better, and squatted down, mindful of her only good*dress. He looked up at her, confused, and then at his surroundings. 'He doesn't have any idea where he is!' She told herself. 'Boy, won't this* be fun.' She added sarcastically. "Where am I?" He asked softly, like it hurt to speak. Which it probably did, due to his swollen lips.   
  
"By the side of the road. I'm Savannah. Who are you?"  
  
"Sp-*cough*-Spot. Spot Conlon." He coughed again, more violently. She furrowed her brow in concern.  
  
"Are you gonna be all right? No offense, but you look like shit*. Can you even get up?"  
  
He frowned indignantly, and considered it for a moment. He shifted his weight a bit, then tried to stand. He collapsed right away, holding his side. He gave her an angry stare. "I suppose you'se tink it's funny, Spot Conlon not even bein able ta get up." He forced himself to talk evenly through the obvious pain.  
  
"I don't think it's funny, I think it's kind of sad. And why are you talking in third person?"  
  
"Shut up. Gimme you'se han'." She automatically put out her hand, and he grasped it tightly, hauling himself to his feet, then almost falling again. She put her arm around his back and helped him out of the ditch to his wagon. There she let go, and he braced himself on it. She looked down at her dress, and saw three dark spots on the rich green material.  
  
"Great. You've got blood on me dress."  
  
"Could be woise."  
  
"Yeah? How?"  
  
"It could be you'se blood. Or it could be Dellancey blood. Or it could be regula' newsie blood." He added the last bit as an afterthought, finding it funny. Savannah didn't get it.  
  
"Regular?"  
  
"I'se Spot Conlon."  
  
"You've already told me that. What's that got to do with anything?"  
  
"I'se da leadah a Brooklyn newsies. I'se pretty fah outside da city, den, ain't I." It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway.  
  
"About eighteen miles out. How did you get here? I know the wagon and all, but why*?"  
  
"Honestly, I don' know. Da Dellancey bruddahs an some a deah scabbahs jumped me in da back streets. I, damnit, I guess I passed ou'. Jacky-boy's gonna gloat on dis one."  
  
"Wha-"  
  
"Nevah min'. Is deah sum wheah's I can siddown at?"  
  
"You could come to my house. It's only about a mile."  
  
"Do we gotta walk?"  
  
"No. My wagon..." She waved her hand over her shoulder. He sighed, relieved, and began to push himself forwards, still leaning on the other wagon. She helped him once he ran out of wagon, and then climbed up herself. "Oh! I nearly forgot..." She jumped back down and ran back to the ditch. "The horseshoe." She said when she got back, as if it explained everything.  
  
"What da hell is dat foah?" Spot asked.  
  
"Well..." She was reluctant to tell him; It sounded awful silly now. "Protection." She said finally.  
  
He nodded, then lapsed into silence for the reast of the short trip. 'Probably a good thing, too.' Savannah thought. 'It has to hurt to talk. He is talking awfully* funny.'  
  
  
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Okay, a long chapter, yeah, and I haven't decided what Jack's gonna say yet. And please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, please* review and vote!  
1.How long will it take Spot to recover?  
A) a week  
B) a month  
C) a summer  
  
2.And Will he find his sister, or was it really a plot by the Dellancey's?  
A) Sister  
B) Plot  
  
  
Vote and Ye shall Receive!   
  
Oh, and P.S. Please Review!!  
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	5. Just couldn't think of a name for this o...

Okay, the votes are in. The results are..~drum roll please~~ a week and a half and no sister! And just for you, Rebellious Observer, I am going to be writing in an alternate slashy ending. For the homophobes out there, do not worry. You will still get a romance free ending, but after that last chapter (and don't worry I will make it *painfully obvious that it is the ending, before you go on and burn your eyes out=) there will be *another ending for those who like the whole slashy Jack/Spot thing. And, Rebellious Observer, you were right it does fit in so nicely! Here's a cookie just for you!(::) And for Dead Poet-Here's your fig Newton! [] Have two. They're pretty small. [] Hee. For Blondy Bear, who has loyally reviewed *all my fics (even the ones I haven't got posted yet!)- You get this lovely little...er....thing. M^/F Do you know what it is? It's what we talked about at school the other day when Kurt was there. Remember? The three-legged rooster Singing the National Anthem while (edited due to content). Like it? Trust me. That's really what it is. Singah-You get a chocolate chip cookie(::). And hey! If you like slash-you get your romance too! Rae Kelly-thanks for continuing to review. Makes me feel all tingly inside when someone I don't tell that I've posted bothers to return! You get a cookie with icing on it! (@) . MooBug-You get a cookie with icing for the same reason-(@). Bronxa-thanks for the Crutchy review. And last but not least -Neffie- thanks for the vote. They pretty much decided it. You get an oatmeal Raisin cookie because I haven't given any of those yet. (%) . And I promise that really is oatmeal rasin.  
Oh! Looky here....there's a cookie left over. (Takes a big bite) 3:) Yummy!  
  
And look! 20 REVIEWS! I never got this many reviews before. And now....On with the show!  
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Jack rushed towards the corner Fox had described in blind panic. He knew that this was bad, and he didn't know what to do about it. It was all his fault. He should have tried harder to make Spot let him go with him. Really, he told himself, Spot shouldn't get to decide it anyway. He's only sixteen! Jack rounded the corner to see three of his newsies standing by a busted wagon. They were all very somber, and were all pointedly not looking at the ground in front of them. When he got to them, they all tried not to look at him *or the ground in front of them. Jack spoke first. "Well? What da hell is goin' on heah?!? What da hell does you'se mean dat sumthin happened?"   
  
Race pointed to a spot next to the wagon behind them. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the puddle on the ground was quickly-drying blood. And right in the middle of it was a terrifyingly familiar black cane. Jack let out a loud, angry scream, cursing who ever did this, and letting out a commentary of what he would do to them. The three boys, two of which had known him for over half their lives, were amazed at the fluency and imagry of his threats. After a moment or so, Jack wound himself down and now he simmered with blind rage. He paced back and forth, muttering incoherently, and occasionally throwing something. He launched a sray potato at the wagon, as if it was wholly responsibele, then cried out. "Thas it! Poifect!" Without further explanation, he grabbed Spot's cane and the letter, both still with blood on them, and raced back in the direction he had come from.   
  
The other's looked at each other blankly, each silently praying for their leader's sanity. They followed, subdued.  
  
  
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Savannah pulled back on the reins, slowing the horses. She walked them as close as she could get to the front porch before waking up the mystery boy, as she had decided to call him, until she could get more information. He had settled himself down in the back of the wagon after only a few yards, muttering about not being able to sit up for all that long. He had fallen back asleep right after, and she feared that he had suffered a head injury. Someone down the road from her had gotten hit in the head by a falling piece of plywood and he had had trouble staying awake. Soon after, he lapsed into a coma, and when he woke up, he was no longer the same. He talked funny, sometimes saying things that didn't make sense, and he wasn't as smart as he was. The teachers at school had sent him home, saying that his injury had made him retarded. Savannah had thought that was very rude, and she meant to tell them so, but the next school day, there was a new teacher.  
  
Savannah went up to the house and un locked the door. She propped it open and turned on the lights that let her see up the staircase. She went up and pulled some sheets out of the linen closet so as to make up an extra be. She went to the guest room and threw the bedclothes on it quickly. She went back outside, and woke Mystery Boy. Once roused, he looked around, confused. "Where--?" He began.  
  
"We're at my house. I'm gonna take you to the doctor tomorrow. Come on, now, though. You've gotta go inside." He shakily climbed down and up on the porch. She slid her arm around his waist, and a second later, he slid his around her shoulders. He wasn't walking well enough to go it by himself and they both knew it. After he had made it to his room, she let go of him ant pulled the comforter down. He slowly climbed into the bed and she threw it back over him. He looked a little more awake from the walk, and he looked at is surroundings. She bagan to leave the room, but heard him speak. "What?"  
  
"I'm all doity. I'se gonna get all dese white sheets ruint." He repeated.  
  
"Oh, that's all right. I can bleach them out. Go to sleep." He nodded and watched as she turned out the light and shut the door behind her as she left. He wondered what had happened as he drifted into oblivion.  
  
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"Stupid Newsies allays messin up ouah sellins. Dey tink dey's bettah den us. Well, we showed dem, huh, Morris. Yeah, we shuah showed dem." Oscar laughed, drunkenly.  
  
"Yeah, dat's foah damn shuah. An dat idea dat I'se had wid da lettah abou' is sistah, dat was real smaht. Ain't nevah gonna be anudah like it." The four boys had decided that they didn't want to walk back to the city, so they stopped at a little inn they had passed on the way. They'd asked about a wagon back, and it turned out that one of the customers were heading that way tomorrow. He told them they could tag along, if they didn't mind riding in the back with the chickens. They agreed, since he wasn't charging anything and the other ride options they had were pay a dollar each to the cab driver, or steal another wagon. They had also decided to spend the night at the inn's bar. All the other patrons had left, and the bartender had left for the night, leaving out three bottles of whiskey, and locking up all the rest.   
  
"Hey, what's we gonna do bou' dat goil we runned off da road?"  
  
"We ain't gonna do nuthin about 'er. She ain't woith nuthin like money, an she ain't pretty enough ta be woith nuthin else." Morris laughed, and damn near fell off his stool. Bruiser and Lefty, passed out in the corner, didn't oblect when Oscar wobbled over and stole the bottle they'd been sharing. He took a big swallow, and tripped over a large nothing that seemed to be lying in the middle of the empty-of-all-but-him dance floor. He crashed to the ground on top of the now busted bottle. Morris rolled his eyes, and got up to see if his brother was all right. He wasn't, obviously, as he was now passed out cold.  
  
He apparently decided to join his crew and he passed out as well. They continued to lie there, until about ten the next morning, when the bartender decided to open, and then they continued to be passed out in a broom closet until nearly an hour afterwards, when they were woken by large amounts of cold water. Their ride had hecided that he was ready to leave, fully functional due to the very small amounts of liquor that he had consumed at dinner the night before. They all climbed into his wagon, and fell asleep again, not minding the chicken shit one bit.  
  
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So, how was it? I have another thing for you to answer, though this one really has a whole lot of nothing to do with the story. So ya don't have ta answer it if ya don't wanna. Okay, here goes.  
  
Would you rather have:  
a) a lemming-shaped piece of cheese  
b) a cheese-shaped piece of lemming  
c) a big rock  
d) a third of someone's soul  
e) coulrophobia  
f) an extra toe  
g) a green martini umbrella  
  
  
Now, there is no right or wrong answer (don't ya just hate it when teacher's say that? Ya know it means that it's a trick question!), but you get bonus points for choosing something! And like I said, there is no right or wrong answer. Unless, of course, the one on the left is right or the one on the right is right, because if the one on the right is wrong, then the one on the left is right, but if the one on the left is wrong then the one on the right is right. Right? Unless of course the shoe in the middle is right, which brings up all sorts of possibilities, like is the left right over the middle simply because..... 


	6. I've decided that Davey must go...

Okay, so far we have:  
Bess-Who wants a third of someone's soul-(I have to agree with you on how much fun that would be. I own half of my friend Andy's soul {bought it for a quarter} and it is quite amusing. Also, I won't tone the accent down, because I had people tell me that they liked the accent. On the hard words, however, I will put the right spelling in () after. Ok?)  
Singah-A lemming-shaped piece of cheese-(It's the fear of clowns, by the way.)  
Rebellious Observer-Who wants a green martini umbrella-(Sometimes, the humor is on purpose, but sometimes I amaze myself! And actually, I am a huge Race/Spot shipper, so I do write a lot of slash. If you want to read my only =( slashy fics posted, go read A Very Nice Day For A Trial, which is Spot/Race, or Rage. But Rage is Harry Potter, Ron/Draco. Moving on...)  
Rae Kelly-(Don't worry. I will get this all out of my head and onto the computer asap!)  
Aaaaaand Here's the customary bribe-a plate of warm from the oven Chocolate chip cookies! There's two for each of the ch. 5 reviewers.  
(::)(::)(::)  
(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)  
---------------------  
And Dead Poet and Blondy Bear, who did not review this last chapter, due to a Chicago trip and Malcolm invading Blondy's computer (We created a Demon? Bad us.~Xander, Buffy: tVS, Season 6, Ep. 'After Life'). Thanks, guys. But hey! You get credit for getting me hooked on the word 'emphatically'.  
And that's all, folks! Moving on, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my Drama class play, which contains the line 'It'd be nice to finally get lucky!'. Boy, that one sounds really bad out of context. Oh, hell. That one sounds bad *in* context!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
Spot woke up to the sounds of metal banging against metal. He opened his eyes and looked around, very confused. He was in a room that he had never seen before, lying in a bed that was emphatically *not* his bed at the Lodging House. The walls were painted a light blue, and the bed had gold-painted foot and headboards. There was a dresser in the corner opposite the bed, and there was a window next to it. It was open, the pale blue curtains pulled across it, but still letting the light and noise in. He moved to get out of the bed, to see if he could find out what was going on, when a sharp pain in his side made him sink back down, and curl into a fetal position. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, but did not cry out. The first rule of the streets : Don't show weakness.  
  
When the pains subsided, he tried to move again, this time a lot slower, and more careful of the injuries he now remembered that he had. 'Damn Dellancey Brothers. I'll soak em all when I get back right.' With that, he eased himself onto his feet and made for the window, to see what that noise was outside.   
  
He was lucky that the window was only about three steps from the bed, because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to make it. He stopped there, leaning against the wall, for a few moments, breathing deeply, exhausted by his efforts. He then pulled back one side of the curtains, and was momentarily blinded by the light. (Hee. Did y'all catch that line from that song? I don't know the name or artist, but it was on the radio earlier! ~*)  
  
Blinking rapidly, he leaned towards it so as he could see where the noise was coming from. There was a big, red barn, complete with a silo, that sat about fifty feet from the back porch. The doors were flun open, to reveal the girl that had pulled him out of the ditch, Savannah, milking cows. Her two milk buckets were making the noises, as she clanged them together when she moved them to go on to the next cow. He watched as she let them out of the pen on the right side, milked them, then shooed them off to a pen on the left. Thankfully, for his aching head, there was only one cow left in the right pen now.  
  
He started to turn away from the window, but was overcome with a wave of dizziness. He grabbed the sill for support, and wavered back and forth. He lunged forward as he lost his balance, and cracked his forhead against the bottom of the raised window. He swore, colourfully, and stared at his hand on the sill to right his sense of balance. As he stared, a drop of red hit the sill, contrasting starkly to the bright white. Another drop fell, then another before Spot realized that his nose was bleeding. "Shit." He said, as he lifted the bottom of his shirt up to press against his nose. He glanced back at the sill, then ran his sleeve across it to clean it. 'Jus' one more drop ain't gonna hurt it.' He thought to himself.  
  
By now, his dizziness had gone, and he made his way to the door. Going out into the hallway, he saw that he was in a rather large house. There were five doors, not counting his own, and then the staircase at the other end of the hall. He swallowed, then proceeded to move very slowly towards the stairs, using the wall as a brace. He had to stop and rest at the top, and it took him a full five minutes to get down. At the bottom, he stopped to get his bearings. Off to his left, there was a room full of furniture covered in white sheetes.  
  
To his right, there was a kitchen, all doe up in a bright, happy yellow color. He headed for the kitchen, and sank down into a chair at the table, fully exhausted once again. About this time, he heard a grating sound that did wonders for his headache. He winced, then looked at the door ans it was knocked open by Savannah's foot, as she struggled with two buckets full of milk and a basket full of eggs, miraculously not spilling any of it.  
  
She set them down on the table and looked over at Spot. "Good. I was afraid that you'd not get up on your own. We're going to go see Doc Flynn as soon as I get the animals done for the morning. You up for some breakfast? I'm not much of an eater in the morning, so all I can offer you breakfast-wise is eggs." She gestured towards the eggs in the mesh basket, sitting too close to the edge of the table for Spot's comfort level. She noticed, and pushed them back. " And milk, of course. Nasty stuff, if you ask me. Oh, don't mind me. I won't be like this all day. I had some chocolate chip cookies left over from last time I visited Mrs. Chappelow -she's my neighbor- and I ate them before I went milking. The sugar will wear off soon, I promise."  
  
Spot just stared at her for a moment, taking this whole speech in. "I think maybe I'll jus' wait for latah. A doctah soun's real good, though." She nodded, and began to clean the eggs, then placing them in small crates. She put them in the icebox(1), then went on to the milk. She got out about twenty glass milk bottles, and poured the milk into each one of them, using a metal funnel. Then she covered them, using cloth squares and metal bands. She placed these in a crate as well, then slid them in next to the eggs.  
"What are you doing?" Spot asked.  
  
She smiled at him. Every other day, I take the milk and eggs to a man about ten miles down the road. He pays me for it. That's how I get money. He does whatever it is that he does to it for it to be fit to be sold in the city."  
  
"What about da rest of your family? Wheah are dey at?"  
  
Savannah hesitated, then frowned, looking at her feet. "They all died, a while back." She was suddenly not hyper anymore, and Spot felt bad. He didn't really know what to do though, so he kept his mouth shut, and the moment to do something passed. She wiped up the mess on the table, and cleaned out the milk buckets. She put the egg basket on a shelf next to the door and then washed her hands, all the way up to her elbows. Spot watched her do this, and she noticed, and explained. "Chickens are nasty, dirty birds. They get their crap all over everything and I don't want any chicken diseases." Spot looked a bit grossed out at the mention of chicken shit, so she clammed up again.  
  
She went about her business, going out of the kitchen and upstairs. Spot heard creaking overhead, then she came down with a bunch of sheets. They were quite obviously the ones he had been sleeping on, due to the blood, dirt, and all around muck that was all over them. She took them out to the porch and dumped them in a heap next to a large metal tub. She looked at them for a few moments, then turned on her heel and came back inside. "So, are you ready to go to Doc Flynn's?"  
  
"Um, yeah. I guess so. How faah is it?"  
  
"It's only about three miles up further. A forty minute drive, usually. Once we took it in thirty, but that was when Mama was having Daniel and he was early and...." She faded out. "Never mind. The wagon is still where we left it. Give me ten minutes to hitch up the horses and we'll go." Spot nodded, and she went off.   
  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
  
Mush held fast to the short piece of straw in his hand. He, Race, Kid Blink, Davey, and Boots had all drawn straws over which one of them would go talk to Jack. None of them really wanted too, owing that once Jack had gotten back to the Lodging House, he had gone over and sat on the fire escape with the paper and cane. Ha had been there ever since, except for once, when he realized that he had Spot's blood all over him and the things he was holding. After cleaning the cane and paper carefully, he ran the same towel across his hands. He didn't even change his shirt.  
  
Race had come up with the idea of drawing, and Boots had produced a long piece of straw, after running into the streets for a few seconds. They had cut it up into five pieces of equal length, and then the one shorter one. They drew out of Blink's hand, with Mush getting the short one. Now, he stood inside the window that led to the fire escape, and he hesitated. Looking back at the others and swallowing nervously. They gave him motions of encouragement, that were altogether un-encouraging, and smiled at him. He frowed again, then jumped out the window before he could stop himself.  
  
"H-h-hey Jack." He stammered. "How's it rollin?" His eyes widended as he realized that he had used Spot's usual greeting, to all the Manhatteners but Jack. Hopefully he wouldn't notice. He did.  
  
"Spot said that to you guys."  
  
"Erm, yeah, Cowboy, he did. He still does, you know."  
  
"I'm suah (sure)." As they spoke, Cowboy had started running his hands all over the black cane. Mush noticed, now worried that Jack might flip out and if he had the cane in his hands....Well, they all knew what Spot did with the cane in a fight.   
  
"So, Jack. What are you doin' out heah? We'se all kinda wondrin' when you'se gonna come in, and all."  
  
"I dunno, Mush. I'se plannin'." Jack looked from the cane to the view thet they had. From this side of the Lodging House, the top of the Brooklyn Bridge was visible.  
  
"Plannin' foah(for) what I'se gonna do to da Delancey Bruddahs."  
  
"What about da Delancey's, Jack?"  
  
"They done dis. I know it. Once I saw da lettah, I knew it was a fake."  
  
"But Jack. You saw da lettah a long time ago. You an Davey."  
  
"No. I didn't see it. Spot jus' tol' us what it was about. But dis lettah didn't come from da Final Rest Home. I know dat for shuah(sure). Dat place wen' outta business two yeahs (years) ago."  
  
"How do ya know dat?"  
  
"Cuz me muddah was deah. She wa buried out in da back. We didn't have no money foah a real place, so dey buried 'er in with da rest of da people who didn't have no family. Between my new job as a newsie, an me faddah's money, we bought 'er a headstone. I used ta go back deah (there) on 'er boithday every yeah (year), till it closed up. Dey ain't nuthin deah now, an dey moved da bodies. I can't get nobody ta tell me wheah to." Jack hung his head.  
  
Mush chewed on his bottom lip, not knowing what to do. He wished Race or Davey were here instead of him. They were much better at this feelings stuff, especially when it came to family. Mush never really had a family. He grew up in an orphanage. When he was seven, they'd sent him to the refuge for something he didn't even do. While he was in there, he met a boy named Michael Garrett. Michael was nearly fifteen, and a newsie. He had been there before, for something that he wouldn't tell Mush about. Michael had broken out after the two of them were there for three days. He took Mush, then called Joseph, with him to the Newsboys Lodging House of Lower Manhatten. There he had picked up the Mush, and had stayed there ever since.  
  
Mush looked at Jack, who was still as deep in thought as Mush had been seconds before. "So what are ya gonna do to em, Jack?"  
  
"I'm gonna kill em." Jack said shortly, before climbing back through the window, and going to bed. Mush sat, stunned, for a few minutes, before runnin to find Race and the others. He found them downstairs, sitting around the poker table. The cars were dealt, but none of them were actually playing. They were all discussing Jack and Spot.  
  
"Hey, guys. Jack-da Delancey's-Spot-lettah's fake. He's gonna kill 'em!"  
  
"Race stood. "Whoa. Whoa. Slow down theah." He came from around the table to stand by his friend. "Staht (Start) ovah."  
  
Mush dropped into an empty chair, his, if he'd been playing cards, and began to tell them what Jack ad said. About the Delancey's, the letter, and his mother. He ended dramatically, with Jack declaring to kill the Delancey's.  
  
Davey looked at the others. "Be calm." He started, but the others all began talking at once, ignoring Davey completely. He tried to get them to shut up, so he could tell them his *cunning* plan, but they wouldn't listen. He got angry, grabbed his brother by the shirt, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.   
  
The others noticed the door slam and looked up. Blink was the first to notice Davey was gone, and he told the others. They merely shrugged, and went back to loudly discussing a course of action and coming up blank.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Okay, that's the end of this lovely chapter. Oh, (1)-What did they call refrigerators then? Where thy still iceboxes, or were they something else? I dunno.  
  
Moving on, here's the useless poll for this chapter:  
Which do you like better?  
A) The Right  
B) The Left  
C) The Middle  
  
  
Please Review!!!  
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	7. in which Spot has an amusing flashback.....

Here we are, once again looking at this lovely story that I have written. Isn't it lovely? You see, it's odd, because I am writing this on Blondy Bear's new laptop, and the keyboard is smaller than the one on mine. I hit so many wrong keyes, that my finger lives on the backspace button! Any way, I'd like to take this time to remind you homophobes who are reading this that the last chapter will really be an alternate ending. It will be Spot/Jack slash. This is to warn you all so that you don't send me any more stupid reviews about how 'gay people are sick and they are all going to hell while I laugh it up in heaven' because that is just stupid, like kittens for currency. And also, you were warned, so if you know that you won't like it, then why are you still clicking on the link? I have yet to understand this. I get reviews that say that the story was sick and disgusting and all that, yet in the summary, I *always* say that it is slash and I always write *WARNING!!!!!---THIS IS SLASH!!!* at the top, and you still don't get it! That is just beyond me. Well, excuse me my little rant, and happy reading!!!  
Poll Results: 100% Right  
  
Thanks go out to:  
Sexydaddymagnet69-woo-hoo!! I get ta be in the story!!!!  
  
Rebellious Observer-For the long reviews that I look foreward to reading after every new posting. And I'm not quite sure about Davey yet, but I am glad that you answered the poll. And I'm sorry about your phone jack. I remember how I was when my laptop died and I was computer-less for nearly two weeks!!!!!  
  
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Spot situated himself in the back of the wagon while Savannah locked the front doors. He shifted his weight a bit to the left, and leaned his head on the side. One hand rested across his knee, which was drawn up in front of him, and the other traveled up to the key that hung around his neck. He gripped it tight, his hand becoming slick with sweat.   
  
He watched as Savannah lifted herself onto the seat and grasped the reins. She flicked them, getting the horses to trot foreward. The wagon wasn't all that steady, and Spot found himself being jostled back and forth. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his side, and gripped the key tight enough so that it left a perfect imprint in his palm. To distract himself from his obvious injuries, and the less obvious ones, he thought about his key.  
  
~^~ (Fade out)~^~  
  
"So what if I needs ya again, Jacky-Boy? How'm I s'possed ta get to ya?"   
  
~^~(Fade in)~^~  
  
  
Spot thought back further, to the first time he ever saw Jack.   
  
~^~(Fade out)~^~  
  
  
A much-younger Spot, around the age on ten, looked towards an eleven-year-old Jack, who had just beaten down the leader of Manhatten. The old leader, a big, sixteen-year-old, with a huge chip on his shoulder. His name was Mack, but they all called him Cheat Mack, on account of the fact that he never played fair, in cards and otherwise. But that was all rather irrelevant. Cheat Mack had cornered the ten year old, newly orphaned Spot in an alley, and had began to tear apart all of the things he had from his home. He grabbed the burlap bag from the street-naïve child, and proceeded to destroy every item he pulled out, save the wallet that was lying in the bottom.  
  
"Noo! Please stop...please..." Spot's words turned into sobs, as his mother's neclace was broken, the dark blue thread-chain falling to the ground, as the tiny, diamond pendant was pocketed. The older boy laughed, sickeningly. Suddenly, he was caught around the middle by rope, that came out of nowhere.   
  
Another boy, looking to be around Spot's age and wearing a black cowboy hat that covered his face, jumped down to the lowest level of the fire escape. He jerked on the rope, and Cheat Mack stumbled backwards. He threw the rope over his head, and turned to face the mysterious Cowboy. His face was twisted nearly unrecognizably as his eyes landed on the boy. "You're gonna pay fer dat, you shit!"  
  
The Cowboy drew his rope back to himself and spun it around his head again. He threw it with practiced accuracy, and tightened it around Cheat Mack's middle. With his arms pinned painfully to his side, Cheat Mack forgot about the boy lying in the alley. He forgot about the bag of goodies that had just left his hand. Hell, he even forgot that he was the great, bullying Newsie leader of the great borough of Manhattan in New York City, the greatest city in all of America. All he could think about was this damn little shit in his dumb-ass cowboy hat, who was currently two up on him.  
  
He wrenched the rope away from the Cowboy, and threw it aside. The Cowboy nearly fell off the fire escape with this move, but managed to stay on the landing, with a little help from (my friends...oh, sorry. A~*) the four foot high railing. As Cheat Mack moved to where he could jump up onto the fire escape, the Cowboy jumped onto the ladder that slid from the platform to the ground. It slammed to the ground with extra force, due to the weight, and landed right on Cheat Mack, knocking him out.  
  
The Cowboy climbed down, taking care to step on Cheat Mack, and helped the young boy to his feet. As the two collected the boy's things, they introduced themselves to each other. "Hey Cowboy, what's your name?"  
  
"Cowboy? Well, I go's by many names, mostly bein' Jack Kelly. But I think dat I like's Cowboy bettah! Who're you, kid?"  
  
"I'm Spot Conlon. Don' laugh at me name, eithah." He warned. Jack, Cowboy, just laughed at his warning.  
  
"You gotta be able ta back you'self up, Spot. Whattaya doin' heah anyways?"  
  
"My family...dey's...dey's all gone. Killed, I think. Da owner of da house threw me out. Dis is all I got." He gestured to the things strewn across the alley.  
  
"Wheah you gonna go?"  
  
"I dunno."  
  
"You could go live wid da newsies. Dat's wheah I live." Cowboy smiled proudly.  
  
"Whith da Newsies? Do you sell too?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm on me way home now. Come on." Cowboy took him back to the Brooklyn Lodging House, where he lived at the time. Spot took to Brooklyn, but a week later they got word that the leader of Manhattan had been picked up by the bulls, for stealing a diamond pendant and a wallet, and murdering the owners. Cowboy jumped at his chance to take over a borough, and within a year, had the best gang of newsies in New York. Spot stayed behind, learning the ropes. He and Jack stayed friends, and that helped Spot rise in the ranks. Jack taught Spot everything he knew about living on the streets, and Spot was a fast learner and a quick improviser. Within a two years of Jack's leaving, Spot challenged the leader of Brooklyn and won, with a little encouragement from his friend.  
  
The two borough's helped each other out, and for the next six months, all was well. But there was a rumor from Harlem, that the Bronx was fixing to take over Brooklyn, from the inexperienced leader. Spot went to find Cowboy, to get reinforcements, but he was not at the lodging house. The boys there said that he went to an old, run down house a lot, and one of them, a new recruit named Anthony Higgins, lead him to a very familiar home. His.  
  
He went to the door and turned the knob, but it was locked. He knocked on the door, and then the windows, but to no avail. After nearly ten minutes, he couldn't wait anymore. What if the Bronx attacked when he wasn't there? Anthony agreed to go back to Manhattan and get as many boys as he could to come help, while Spot ran home. Not a moment to soon. Not a half an hour after Spot returned, nearly all the Bronx boys showed up, their leader, Pirate, at the front.   
  
Brooklyn was ready for the attack, but were beginning to loose, when Anthony returned with what looked like all of Manhattan, including Cowboy. Jack sought out Spot, and when he saw him, shouted, "Brooklyn!!" Spot answered to it, and unknowingly received his new nickname, and trademark. The two borough's together were enough to drive the Bronx back for good, when Pirate was knocked out by Spot's infamous cane. Pirate was later found on the steps of the police station.  
  
Later on, Jack told Spot that he was on his way home when he ran into his boys, who explained the problem. Jackl rushed to help, thinking that if anything had happened to his friends, he would know that it was his fault they weren't ready sooner. Spot told him it ended allright, but it was a close call. "What if I needs ya again, Jacky-Boy? How'm I s'pposed ta get to ya?"  
  
Jack pulled an old, metal key out of his pocket and handed it to Spot. "Heah. Dis one opens da front dooah (door) of da house I was in. I got two of em. You'se cin keep dis one."   
  
Spot nodded, and later on that night strung it onto the blue thread-chain his mother's diamond had been on. It seemed right somehow, that being his own house key, and all.  
  
~^~(Fade in)~^~  
  
  
Spot dropped the key so that it fell back against his chest and looked at the house they had pulled in front of. Savannah stepped to the ground, and he sighed heavily before following suit.  
  
  
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Okay, then here's chappie 7!! If Spot seems a bit like he dosen't care about his family, that's because he's in shock. Trust me. He is....*looks around sheepishly*  
  
P.S. I would like to add that you are now reading the rantings of a very happy author, for I have just purchased Jurassic Park Three, the one with Eric, and the nifty little compy's. Which leads me to this installment's useless poll.   
  
Which Jurassic Park was your favorite?   
C) Jurassic Park, Three  
D) Huh?   
  
A) Jurassic Park, One  
B) Jurassic Park, Two, The Lost World   
E) Could you repeat the question..  
F) Ummmmmmmm.......................  
  
  
Okay, you've read, now REVIEW!!!!!!  
  
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	8. In which Jack has a freaky dream and you...

Here we go...Off to Chappie eight!! Well...sort of...if you count my author rant as a chapter...which I do....Oh, Speaking of ranting! My drama class play was Wednesday and I had the part of the villain. Yesterday, Thursday, we did clean up, and today, Friday, we were finally able to start watching a video of it. Mrs. Sladek, our drama teacher, and play director, told us that most casts' sign their playbooks when the play is over, so we were all passing them around the room. I got mine back and stuffed it into my backpack, to read what people had written on the bus ride home, as I have Drama last bell. Well, I pulled that little book out and read the ones on the front cover, then flipped to the back cover, then started flipping pages to find the rest, as there are roughly sixteen people in the cast, and I had only read about seven or eight signatures. I didn't come across any of the rest. You know how awful that makes someone feel? Everyone signed everyone else's, and I signed all of theirs that were handed to me, but no one can sign mine? What the hell! But to all of you reading this who have done something like that before, that's a real shitty thing to do. Don't do it to someone. That might just be the thing that pushes them over the edge. This might sound like a corny commercial, but it's true. I know. I attempted suicide earlier this year, because one thing too many happened. Okay, now I think I may be in a depressed enough mood to write a Jack chapter, since I have so much trouble with him in this story when I'm hyper.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~^~~~~~~~~~  
  
'Why did I do it? He was my best friend! I should have known better...' thought Jack, as he drifted into the abyss of dreams. (Oooo....nifty. I used those funny words just to say he fell asleep.~A) Racetrack looked over at him from the make-shift card table at the top of the stairs, and quietly told the others to move back downstairs. They looked at Jack again, to make sure he was asleep, and then packed up. If they would have stuck around five minutes longer, they would have heard him talking in his sleep, for the first time since any of them had known him.  
  
~*(corny dream fade-out)*~  
  
"Now look, boy." A dream-Jack said to a scrawny, eight-year-old dream-Spot. It was funny, though. Jack was still eighteen, but Spot was only eight. And the two didn't even meet until the real Spot was ten. "Now look boy, I'm going to go now. You'll be on your own. Can you handle it?"  
  
" 'Course, I can, Jacky-boy! Whadda ya take me foah?" This little boy had real-life!Spot's voice. Dream-Spot had both his hands behind his back, but since Jack was so much bigger, he could see that he had his finger's crossed. Jack looked at him to tell him that he was staying, but Dream-Spot was already running back to his home, where his family was at, including the sister he had never met before.   
  
"Wait!! No, don't go yet! Come back!" Jack raced after him, but Spot just seemed to get further away, often turning to mock the older boy.  
  
"I don't need you anymore, Jacky-boy." Came a ghostly voice from behind him. Jack turned. Spot stood there, at age sixteen. "But I did. And you weren't there." Spot disappeared, but Jack heard his voice coming from behind him again. "Now look. I needed you Jack, but it ain't good enough anymore." Jack turned to apologize, and screamed out loud, as he hadn't done since his father had been taken away so many years before.   
  
Spot looked awful. Beyond awful. Jack had seen a corps fished out of the river once, after it had been under for three days, snagged on a bridge up-stream. That's about what Spot looked like now, minus the water-logging. His skin was pasty white, with purple-ish rings around his eyes and mouth. His hands were bloody, with huge gashes up and down his arms. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his chest reminded Jack of sasauge he had seen at Tibby's, before it was cooked. His pants were torn, and stiff with mud, and probably blood as well, and he was barefoot. His entire body was the same white as his face. His hair stood out now, black with something wet that Jack didn't want to think about. Jack was nauseas. He turned and was sick, all over the front steps of a house that hadn't been there moments before. He looked up to see the ghost 'Dead?' Spot standing there, fist closed tightly around something. He threw it, and Jack caught it, as a reflex.   
  
"I won't need this anymore, will I. See ya, Jacky-boy." Ghost Spot turned, and walked through the open door, leaving a trail of muddy 'Bloody?' footprints across the porch. Jack opend his fist to see what it was that Spot had thrown him. What it was made him sick again. It was Spot's key.  
  
  
  
~*(corny dream fade-in)*~  
  
Jack sat upright so quick that he hit his head on the bunk above him. Spot was dead. Or hurt horribly. He knew it, just as he knew that the Delancey's were behind it. He looked down at his hand that had caught the key, and sucked in his breath. Wrapped in his fist was his own copy of the key to Spot's old home. He must have gotten it from his bed-side table in his sleep. Only now it was covered in blood. Jack dropped it and wiped his hands on the blanket that was across his knees. He was thouroughly scared for Spot now, and he knew in his heart that the Delancey's would get what was coming to them, but he felt somehow, that it would not be by his hand.  
  
  
~~~~~~^~~~~~~  
  
Okay, I know that chapter was awfully short, but I didn't want to try and write Spot and Savannah and the boys who are still in decent moods. Yeah, I'm just gonna go now. Remember to review and answer my poll!!!  
  
What is your favorite vacation spot?  
A) Mt. Everest  
B) Pompeii  
C) Over-the-Rhine (if you live near where I do, you'll understand why this is here. Think: Riots.)  
D) School  
  
Thanks go out to (sorry, no cookies this time) :  
Gremlin Raven-thanks!JP:3 is my fave, too.  
Sexydaddymagnet69-I'll try!  
AthenaHuntress- thanks!  
DS-Mandi- Sorry! Please don't cry!  
Rebellious Observer- Yikes! Watch it with that sword! You could poke someone's eye out! And thanks for all the compliments! I always look foreward to reading your reviews. They're always so entertaining! Oh, and, JP  
:1 is a great one! My second fave.  
MooBug-Thanks! And for the record, JP:3 is my fave. Also...Geez!!! How can one not know Draco!! *smacks self for yelling. Not everyone likes Harry Potter and we know it.* Draco is my favorite character in the Harry Potter series.  
  
Review!  
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	9. Sidetracked at the races...

This chapter is still going to be all in the city, because I'm not quite sure what's gonna happen to Spot yet. And just because I made myself very confused when I was trying to figure out what day it is, here's a handy dandy time line.   
  
Thursday- Morning-Spot gets his letter and sets off  
Thursday-night-boys go off to find that Spot's gone  
Thursday-evening-Savannah finds Spot  
  
Friday-very early morning(as in about five or six) -Jack tells Mush he's gonna kill Delancey's  
Friday-morning-Spot awakes  
Friday-morning-Delancey's hitch ride to city  
Friday-morning (think 9 or 10)-Jack falls asleep and dreams that dream that I'm very proud of  
Friday-morning (7 or 8)-Savannah drives Spot to Doc Flynn's  
Friday-noon-the contents of this chapter begin with the second edition of The World for today.  
  
  
There. Now I understand when it is. Do you?  
  
#$#$#$#$#$#$#$#$  
  
  
"Fifty papes." Race tossed his two bits onto the counter and grabbed the stack of newspapers handed out through the window. He looked back at where the others were stading and waved at them. He then set off to his selling spot, Sheapshead Bay. He sold eight of them on his way over, making an extra profit from the first one, when he had no change. It took him twice the usual amount of time to get to the tracks, owing to the fact that he had no sleep the night prior.  
  
He sat down to read through the paper when he reached the gates, and was astounded at how dull the headlines were. The best one he found was 'Mayor's Prize Bulldog Run Over In Driveway'. He couldn't understand why the papers would actually write a whole article on something like that, but it was the best he could do. He stood up and began yelling. "Bloody death in Mayor's own Driveway! Senseless killings by our city's leaders!" That one sold ten.  
  
There was an article on the back page about a missing wagon. "City wide crime spree! Nothing is safe!" That one sold twelve. Apparently, people were interested in robberies this morning. Right below the one about the wagon, there was an article about a ransacked vegetable cart. It talked about how it was the delivery cart for all the grocery supply places in Manhattan and Brooklyn. He smiled. 'That was probably where we was playing with the potatoes.' He thought to himself.  
  
"Food becoming scarce! Severe food shortage in our country! Millions will starve!" fourteen bought that one. He had only been at it for two hours and he only had six papes left. 'Shoulda got more today.' He thought, before yawning. He shook his head to wake himself up a bit more. 'One more good headline should get rid a these.'  
  
As he sat scanning the pages again, he almost fell asleep. He decided to find somewhere to lie down for a quick nap, and looked around. He settled on a box reserved for someone famous that had never actually been to the races. He just rented it out permanently, in case he ever decided to try his luck at gambling. Race walked over and, after a quick look around to make sure no one saw him, he pushed the door open. Surprisingly, there wasn't even a handle on the door. It just swung back and forth on the hinges. After wondering why for a fleeting moment, he laid down an the padded bench and fell asleep, arm slung protectively over his last few papes.  
  
* * *  
  
On another side of the park, a girl in a blue skirt and a brown, button-down shirt was running to fetch another drink for someone. She got half-way there, and was flagged down by someone else to show her where the restrooms were. She did that, and in that time, forgot all about the drink. She remembered it, after the man who wanted it spotted her again, this time getting a program for someone else. "Where is my drink girl?"  
  
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry, sir. I got sidetracked."  
  
"See that it dosen't happen again. Fetch it now, would you?"  
  
"Oh, yes sir! Right away." She turned to get it, for real this time, her mousy brown hair whipping her in the face as she spun too quickly. After she had (finally) delivered it, she went to see Mr. Arnold. He was the current manager of Sheapshead Races, and she worked for him. He paid her twenty cents an hour to run errands for his customers. It was either this, or factory work, so she stuck with it.   
  
"Mr. Arnold, sir, can I take my lunch break now?"  
  
"Yes, but you must be back in a half an hour, because Mr. Defosset will be here. I want you to meet him at the gates and show him to his box."  
  
"The Mr. Defosset who rented the luxury box for a lifetime but has never even been to a race before? That one?" She asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes, that one. You will be running only for him and his wife the rest of the day. And no being sidetracked. Do you understand? One complain and you will be out of a job." He frowned down at her to let her know that he was serious.  
  
She nodded, then ran to the little bar that was kept sectioned off from the rest of the tracks. She made her way into the kitchens and began to fix herself something. Eating quickly, she sat down back in the corner for a little rest before going to the gates.   
  
She milled around for nearly twenty minutes before a fancy black and silver carrige pulled up. The driver jumped down to open the door for the passengers. A man with graying hair and a very hoity-toity suit got out, followed by an equally hoity-toity woman, wearing the largest, ugliest hat the girl had ever seen. She made her way over and, very politely, asked if they were Mr. and Mrs. Defosset. The woman sneered at her, but the man nodded and smiled kindly. "My name is Becky, and I will be serving you today. Follow me, please. Your luxury box is ready." She turned, and they followed. She pushed open the swinging door and stepped back so as they could go in first. She expected them to just sit and ignore her until they wanted something. She did not expect the woman to scream very loudly upon entering the box.  
  
She rushed up to find a horrified couple staring at a very surprised and only half awake boy half on the bench, and half on the floor. Mr. Defosset's face was turning a very deep shade of red as he fanned his wife with one hand. Mrs. Defosset looked as if she was about to faint. 'I'll never understand rich people.' Thought Becky, as she rushed to the boy's side and stood him up. As she did, Mr. Defosset sat his wife down on the end of the bench and began to scream for Mr. Arnold. Becky began to hurry the still asleep boy out of there when Mr. Arnold came rushing in. He took one look around and began to yell at the poor boy, who didn't know what to say.  
  
"You boy are going straight to prison! Tresspasser! This is a private box, boy, and you are not invited. Becky, go ring Warden Snyder at once!"  
  
"NO! He was just resting here, right?" She didn't let the boy answer. "He's my friend, and I told him he could rest in here because we never use it. I ...I...I just forgot, was all, when I was on my lunch break...It's not his fault and I won't ring than horrible man!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him down the stairs behind her.  
  
Mr. Arnold came out behimd her, seething over his embarrassment in front of his best clients. "You had better not ever show your face here again, Becky, or I will report YOU to Snyder!"  
  
"I would never come back here in a million years! Go to hell, Arnold!" The eyebrows of all who heard this last part shot up as high as it was humanly possible. The girl...a female...had cursed! And in public! One old woman in an ugly hat fainted dead away.  
  
~~~~^~~~~  
  
  
Once they were about seven blocks away, the girl slowed down and looked back, almost in defeat. Race looked at her, and said the most suave, cool thing he had ever heard anyone say to a girl. "Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Becky, but my friends call me Sidetracked. Who are you, and why *were* you in that box?"  
  
"I'm Racetrack. Race for short. I's jus' sleepin. I ain't slept in two days."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Dey's some trouble at da Lodgin' House. Bad stuff. Hey, why'd you help me out back deah? You'se got in a woild a trouble fer it."  
  
"I helped because...well...I dunno, I just did. I'm always in a world a trouble. But now I gotta find a new job. It's back to the factory, I guess. What kinda trouble at...where was it? The Lodging House?"  
  
"Yeah. The Newsboys Lodging House of Lower Manhattan. One a ouah (our) friends dissapeahed. We thinks we know who caused it, though. Ummm...I was thinkin'...If you'se don' wanna go back to da fact'ry...You'se could com an be a newsie."  
  
"A newsie? Me? But...I'm a girl!"  
  
"Yeah, well...dere are some goil newsies. Jes...not in Manhattan. Dere's two in Queens, and one in Harlem...an deah used ta be two in Coney Island, but dey got married ta some fact'ry woikah's an now dey don' woik no moah. But goiols can be Newsies too."  
  
"Maybe I'll give it a try...But...I don't know anything about it. But umm...about the Lodging House...Ummm...where do I live? I used to sleep at the tracks, but..." Sidetracked trailed off.  
  
"I think Kloppman will let you stay with us...I know the othah goils stay in deah borough's login' houses. Why do dey call's ya Sidetracked?"  
  
"Cause I get sidetracked easy. Can't keep my mind on nothing for more than a few minutes." Now they were turning onto Duane Street, with Race leading the way.  
  
"Well, here we are. Dis is da Lodgin' House. Noone else'll be deah(there) yet, so's we might as well go on ta Tibby's." Race tossed his last six papes into the gitter. He wasn't in the mood to stop and sell now, on the way to dinner. Besides, he'd lost more than six cents before. "SO what did you'se do at da tracks ta get fiahed(fired) from?"  
  
"I just ran around allday, running errands for the rich people, fetching drinks, that sort of thing. Hey, it's better than working in the factorys. And it got me twenty cents an hour."  
  
"Twenty cents an houah! You'll be lucky ta make twenty cents a day heah, or in da fact'ry. I'm real sorry I got ya fiahed." Race pulled open the door to Tibby's and let her wank in first.  
  
"Ah, it's nothing. I just been itching to tell that guy off. I never have liked him, but the pay was good."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'se sorry anyways. Come ere an meet da guys." They walked over to the biggest table in the corner. There were eight people at it, but there was space for ten. Race sat in one of the chairs, motioning for Sidetracked to sit in the other one. "Hey, you'se guys. How's it goin'?"   
  
They all greeted him with hi's and hello's and it's allright's. But they were all looking for him to introduce this new goil. "Guys, dis heah is Sidetracked, an I kinda got 'er fiahed taday, so I was thinkin' maybe she could be a Newsgoil, like dey got in some a da othah boroughs. Whatcha think, Jack?"  
  
They all looked expectantly to a tall boy sitting in the very corner. He had on a cowboy hat over his blondish hair and a bandanna around his neck. One arm was wrapped around the shoulders of a dark-haired girl in a dress that reminded Sidetracked of Little Bo Peep. The boy sat foreward in his chair and said "Suah. I'se al right wid it, so long as she don' mind livin' wid a bunch of dumb guys." He smiled, jokingly.  
  
"Okay, den, Sidetracked, dis heah is Puppy, dis is Jumpah, the little one is Les, then Davey, that's Sarah, and Jack, Mush, den next ta you'se is Fox."  
  
"Hi. Umm...It's gonna take me forever to learn all of your names. Sorry."  
  
"Hey dat's allright. We all ansah(answer) to streetrat, an boy, and stuff like dat too." The one with very dark, curly hair added. She thought that his name was Mush. He smiled at her. After that, they went back to what she assumed they were talking about before she got there. Medda's. By being quiet and listening a bit, she fould out that Medda's was some sort of theatre. But she soon lost interest in the conversation that she wasn't a part of. She looked around the room to see that there were several other boys in there, most right around the age of the ones she was sitting with, but some looked younger.  
  
She wondered if they were all newsies, but just then a waiter brought out a tray of food, in large bowls, and ten plates to their table. There were others doing the same to the other tables. She sat there, wondering about how to get herself some food, when Race grabbed two plates and handed one to her. "Jus grab some befoah it's all gone." He told her, while filling his own plate. Eeveryone else at the table was doing the same thing, and she felt horribly out of place.   
  
The boy next to her, Fox, smiled and said "It feels kinda funny jus jumpin' right in, but it'll get bettah. Promise. I only been here a short time. But you better grab some food now. They always serve it like this to us, because we'd end up passing food around anyways. But when it's gone, it's gone." He picked up a chicken leg, and began to eat. She shrugged, and her stomach growled. She frowned at it, wondering how she could be so hungry, when she eaten only an hour and a half ago.  
  
She spooned herself some mashed potatoes and corn, then reached over and grabbed a chicken leg from the plate in front of Fox. Eating quietly, she decided she would like this place a lot when she had been there long enough to find her little place with them. It was a lot easier when people weren't fawning over you, too. She thought back to when she first got her job at the tracks, and how all the waitresses and cooks in the little bar area were always getting her things, and trying to cook for her. She had hated that, but after nearly a month of it, they just let off. But so far, so good with the newsies. They were used to new people coming and going, apparently.  
  
After the plates and bowls were emptied, conversation went back to Medda's. There was a new act tonight, who wanted to go see it? They were all game except for Sarah, who thought that Les had seen enough vaudille shows to last their mother's lifetime. Apparently, Les sang in his sleep. The little boy blushed furiously at this, and said bye very quickly before going home with Sarah.  
  
Race leaned over to her and asked "Sidetracked, so you wanna go with us ta Medda's, or do you wanna go back to da House?"  
  
"I'll go to Medda's. Don't really wanna go back alone. Not much to do by yourself."  
  
"All right. Come on, den." She got up, and he held his arm out to her. She smiled, and looped hers through. They then proceeded to follow the others down the street. It was kind of funny, watching them all walk, because they had to jump on every barrel, and walk on every set of steps all the way to the theatre. Except for Racetrack. He stayed with her. Sidetracked smiled, and was suddenly very glad that she had been fired.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
88888888888888888888888888888888888  
  
  
  
  
Whew! That one was long! And I'm not exactly sure wether I like it or not. I just wanted it to be a little short thing where he meets this girl, but then it grew. I don't know how. It wouldn't let me end it either. Finally, I just had to put my foot down and tell them all that I was absolutely not writing about the show. Then they got mad and wouldn't talk anymore and how can one write a story in which the characters refuse to speak? Well, one can't. So I ended it.   
  
Thanks Go out To:  
  
Rebellious Observer-Thanks. Wow! You must have liked it then, eh? I am *really* proud of that dream sequence, though. And I feel your pain over exams. I totally bombed my Geometry one.  
  
MooBug (who forgot to sign it, but I knew who's it was)-Yeah. They are great books. I have them memorized!!Gred and Forge are the greatest, though. My faves are: Draco, Ron, George, Seamus, Fred. I don't know why I like George better. I just do.  
  
SexyDaddyMagnet69-Thanks for signing it!! Just wait...you'll get your bit in here with Mush soon!!  
  
  
  
Please Review, and answer my silly question:  
  
If you were scuba-diving, and were attacked by a rabid giraffe, what would your favorite kind of cheese be?  
  
A) Cheddar  
B) Gouda  
C) Mozerella  
D) Swiss  
E) Colby  
F) Blue  
G) Limburger  
H) Any of the gross, moldy ones that all look the same  
I) Skeezy Cheeses that I can't describe...(Xander, Once More With Feeling)  
J) Cheese? What's cheese?  
K) Eggplant  
  
  
Review!!!  
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	10. In which we have a shirt-less Spot...

First off. Major shout-outs:To Bluehag and Rebellious Observer. I loved your reviews! They were hilarious! Okay, so I'd already had waffles by the time I read them, and syrup makes me HYPER!!! But I was rolling. My brother came in and asked me if I was allright. He thought I had gone nutters! It was great. Thanks, Bluehag, for reviewing every chapter as well. (And I'm glad I got that image to stick in your head all day. Thanks for the compliments on my realistic parts and yes, I try to do my homework before I get started. It's better if you have it be period-correct.) And Rebellious Observer, I'm glad that you liked Sidetracked. I like her. I think she's me, though, so I will have to try hard not to let her (or Savannah) turn into Mary Sue's)  
  
Moving on...I hope that time-line helped you all out as much as it did me. If you want, I can post one every few chapters. Tell me in the review. Well, that's all I have to say for now, so Enjoy The Story!!!  
  
  
~^~*  
  
  
Spot sat up higher as the wagon pulled into the driveway of a small, one story red-brick house. There was a white sign hanging by the front door that said "Doctor Flynn", so Spot presumed that he was at Doc Flynn's house. Savannah got out and went to knock on the door while Spot slowly maneuvered himself out of the back. He wished he had his cane, but the last time he had seen it, was right before he was knocked to the ground back in the city. By the time he had gotten to the porch, the door was being opened by an old man in a black suit. He had gold-rimmed glasses, and a silver pocket watch.   
  
"Hello, Doctor Flynn. I'm sorry to bother you so early, but this boy needs help." Savannah gestured to Spot. As Doc Flynn's eyes racked over him, Spot felt horribly self-conscious and Savannah realized how dirty he was. 'I could have at least let him wash himself up a bit.' She bit her lip. Doc Flynn was one of those sort of people who think that they're better than everyone else, just because they had the money to go to medical school. She didn't like him, but he was the next closest doctor was all the way in the city, and Flynn lived only three miles away.  
  
"Well, come in, then, and sit on the table. Don't even think about using the chairs. You're covered in filth." He wrinkled his nose as he opened the door wide enough that both the others could come through with out accidentally touching him. Spot gave him a healthy glare as he passed.  
  
Once inside, Spot and Savannah both decided to be facetious and stand up. The doctor let the room, and was gone for a very long time. Spot was getting dizzy again, but he forced himself to stay standing just so as not to do what the doctor ordered. He used one hand to brace himself, though, or else he wasn't sure if he would stay up much longer. Flynn finally returned, now with a white coat over his suit and carrying a small, black leather bag. A woman walked in behind him, wearing a white coat just llike his, but hers was buttoned so as to cover her blue dress. Unlike the doctor, she was smiling and looked happy. She was carrying a bowl, two towels, and a bar of soap. On closer inspection, Spot saw that the bowl was full of water, and one of the towels was really a washcloth. He looked at all of this suspiciously. She wasn't gonna try to wash him right here with everyone in there, was she?   
  
Doctor Flynn turned to the woman. "Millie, he's all your's. I'm going too see about Mrs. Akerly." He grabbed his hat as he walked out the door and went to his own wagon, which was much nicer than Savannah's. The two turned to Millie.  
  
"Now, you're a bit dirty, my boy, and we need to get you cleaned up a bit before we can see what's wrong with you." She smiled at them. "Savannah, dear, if you don't mind?"  
  
"Oh. I ummm...I should move the wagon out from right where it is." She left the room. Spot looked at the woman like she had grown another head.  
  
"Come on, honey. Sit on the table. It doesn't bite." She said cheerfully. Spot narrowed his good eye. She bustled about, setting everything down on the opposite end that he was supposed to sit on, andgetting the washcloth soapy and wet. She turned back to him, and he was still staring at her like she had suddenly sprouted wings. "Oh, come on, boy. I'm a nurse. I promise, I won't go telling any of your friends. Speaking of, I haven't seen you out this way before. Are you new here?"  
  
"No. I live in da city." He was feeling a bit more at ease with this woman, but he still didn't want her to go washing him and all. He leaned on the table. "I um..I had a accident. I guess you'se could call it dat."  
  
"Ah. I see. Did this 'accident' have anything to do with drinking? Or perhaps other boys?" Millie was trying to find out what had happened, obviously, and put him at ease at the same time. He decided that she made a great nurse, and obliged.  
  
"Yeah. There's these scabbah's, an dey's always messin' with me an me boys. And so I'se decides ta teach em a lesson. In front a their goil. She left em. Dey blames me." He said, as he sat lightly on the edge of the table.  
  
Millie nodded, and spoke. "There, now. That wasn't so hard, was it? Undo your shirt so I can take a look at your side." Spot looked down and saw that the entire right side of his shirt was soaked red-brown with dried blood. No wonder it had hurt like hell when he tried to get up. More than a bit curious about it himself, he unbuttoned his shirt and slid his right arm out of the sleeve and the suspenders.  
  
The ruined material was sticking to the gash, that was nearly three inches long. Spot winced, and Millie had to pull the shirt the rest of the way off herself. With him squeezing his eyes shut, Millie dabbed at it with her soapy towel, then poured burning antiseptic in it. With him somewhat cleaned, she could see a bit more of the severity of the wounds. The three-inch cut wasn't the only one. There were several small ones across his chest, and shoulders. He was what Millie termed as "just one big bruise, then, aren't we!"  
  
When he was finally truly clean, he had a grand total of seventeen wounds needing stitches, and over thirty small ones that didn't. Millie was worried that he may have cracked a rib, so she made him lie down as she felt him up. (A/N-does that line creep anyone else out? Maybe I should have said it different...) She decided after extreme Spot-tourture, that it was just the massive bruising that was hurting him so much.   
  
"Well, that's all we can do for you here. Now. Here's what you have to do. You keep to bedrest-" at a protestful cry from Spot, she changed her mind. "Keep to the house, then, and no more moving than you absolutely have to, for three days. That should be enough time for the swelling and bruising to go down. After that, keep to as light of work as you can, for at least a week, or else you'll open up those stitches. You come back here then, in twelve days, and we'll see about getting the stitches out. I've got to get you more bandages, so just sit tight for a moment and I'll be back to show you how to dress them properly." With that, Millie gathered up all the towels and suture kits and scurried away again, always busy.  
  
Once she had left the room, the front door opened and Savannah walked in. She looked at Spot and her jaw dropped. He wasn't wearing a shirt! And, bloody hell! He looked like shit. She realized that she was staring, and blushed, but Spot hadn't noticed. He was too pre-occupied with trying to sit up again. He looked up at her when he heard the door shut, and she said, "Oh, sorry. I saw Millie leave and I thought you all were done. I'll go back outside." She turned to go.  
  
"You'll do no such thing, m'dear. I need to tell you what he's supposed to do so he dosen't injure himself further." Millie had come back, with a package full of bandages. "Now. He needs to keep still for three days, and only do light things for the next week after that. He'll need to be back in twelve days to have the stitches removed. About theses, now, the bandage will need to be changed at least once a day, and again if he splits the stitches. If he does that, he'll need to return. Now, both of you pay attention."   
  
She pulled one of the rolls out of the brown paper package (tied up with string...Oh. Sorry. Tee-hee.) and unwound the end. She motioned to Spot to lift his arms, and he complied. She wound it around his middle, covering the big gash, and most of the larger smaller ones. When she got to the end of the roll, she showed them how to tuck the end into itself to fasten it.She also wound one that covered the top of his left shoulder, and went around his chest, and under his right arm. That done, she gave the dressings to Savannah while Spot put his clothes back on. The suspenders were left to hang at his waist.  
  
Shoving his hair back from his forhead, Spot got down from the table. He leaned on it for a moment, and then walked over to where Savannah was standing, by the door.   
  
"Thank you, Millie. What do we owe you?" Savannah asked.  
  
"This wasn't much dear, so how about some eggs? A dozen should cover it all."   
  
"All right, then. I'll deliver them tomorrow. Goodbye, Millie." Savannah turned and held the door for Spot. Once they were both outside, and away from Millie, Spot spoke to her.  
  
"You'se gonna pay her with eggs?"  
  
"Yup. I got eggs. She needs eggs. That's how it works."  
  
"You don't gotta give 'er no money." Spot said, incredulously.  
  
"We ain't got much money out here. We...oh, what's the word? Barter? Is that the right word?"  
  
"Uhh...I dunno. Sounds good ta me." By now, they were back in the wagon, and Savannah was driving them home. They fell into silence until they got into the driveway. "Savannah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How'm I gonna pay you back? I ain't got nuthin that you need, and I ain't got no money, eithah."  
  
"You can...ummm...Oh! I know. You can help with the harvest. I ain't got much of a garden, but it'll need to be brought in in about two weeks. That'll be right after you get your stitches out." Savannah pulled back on the reins, urging the two horses to a slow stop.  
  
Spot got out, and Savannah drove the horses to the barn, where she unhitched them. Spot stood on the porch, watching. It was so much different out here than it was in the city. The city. He missed his friends. Especially the ones in Manhattan. Jack, Race, Mush, Fox...Thinking about them made him kind of homesick. He sighed, and continued to think about them until Savannah told him to come to the kitchen, for supper. They had chicken. It made him think of Tibby's.  
  
  
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*  
  
  
  
'Waking up is the worst thing in the world.' Thought Race, as he woke up. They had been at Medda's all night, not getting home unitl three. They'd had to sneak in the fire escape, so as not to wake Kloppmann, who slept downstairs. Now thinking about the night at Medda's, Race smiled to himself as he went to the washroom. He had spent the entire night taking to Sidetracked.  
  
After slicking back his hair, he turned and walked straight into Jack. Jack laughed at the goofy grin. "Geez, Race. You'se actin like you'se in luv er sumthin'!"  
  
"Shuddup, Cowboy." Race tried to make himself stop smiling. He didn't want them to know it, but he was starting to like Sidetracked...In the way that Jack liked Sarah. He held his arm out to Sidetracked as she walked up the steps, from where she had spent the night, in the sick room on the second floor. Jack said she absolutely could not sleep up there in the bunk room it Kloppman wouldn't let Sarah even stay at the lodging house. Race suspected that Jack was a bit bitter that his girl didn't want to spend the night with him yet.  
  
Sidetracked smiled to herself as she looked at Race. She was awfully glad that she helped him out yesterday. Now, she would get to spend all the time she wanted with him, which was a good thing.  
  
/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*\*/*  
  
  
How'd you like it? Answer me my useless poll!  
  
Should I put a timeline up every few chapters?  
  
A) Yes  
B) No  
C) What's a timeline?  
D) Could you repeat the question?  
E) I like stoplights!  
  
  
Read? Review!!!!  
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	11. Racetrack's at the tracks!...

Well, thanks to my wonderful reviewers, I have received the answer to my last poll! The results are...(drum roll, please!)...E! I like stoplights! The only problem is...that doesn't help me any. Yay! So I have decided that every so often, as in every five chapters, I will put another poll...if this story takes that much longer, anyways. Moving on......There has been an amazing new happening in which whoever owns the Newsies has mysteriously disappeared and there was a legal document found that named me as the sole heir of all Newsie material in case that whoever owned them first died or went missing. Yay! Go me! Unfortunately, the persons who kidnapped the original owners had realized that they had just given me full reign over any upcoming projects, panicked, and returned the original owners. Thus, I no longer own anything pertaining to the original Newsies.  
  
  
  
  
~**~  
  
  
Race strolled along the fence line, hawking his headlines, while Sidetracked worked diligently, trying to dislodge one of the wide boards. They both new that the front gates would be watched, and the side gates watched even closer, but if they went in the back....  
  
Wiping the sweat of her forehead, she pulled the old nail out. She dropped the screw driver she had been using, and ever so slowly, pulled the board out of it's place, so that it swung on it's last nail like a hinge. Smiling, she stepped out from behind the row of bushes, grown to make the fence look better, and picked up her five papers. Race had told her that he'd but her lunch, and she'd buy her dinner, so that she could start out with just a few. She took ten, and, with Race's help, had sold half of them on the way to the tracks.  
  
She got close to him and whispered "We're in." Race smiled, and they both began edging their way back to the large bush. Once there, they quit calling headlines, and Sidetracked stepped behind it. With out even looking back, Race sidestepped behind it as well. They tossed down their papes and snuck in.  
  
While Race checked the line-up and times, Sidetracked tried to sneak around to where she kept her few things, in the kitchen of the bar, in a closet next to the pantry. She knew that Millie would be working today, but sometimes her sister, Maggie, would show up, on the pretense of helping. All Maggie really did was spread hurtful gossip, probably making most of it up. Millie, on the other hand, was so nice and sweet. Sidetracked knew that if it was just her in there, that she'd be able to get her stuff and get out, no problem.  
  
Creeping up to the window, next to the door, Sidetracked cleared a small circle. She could see Millie stirring a large pot of something, and the currently empty chair in the corner that Maggie would use. She smiled. Today might just be lucky. If she was able to get back to Race without incident, she might even bet on the horses herself.  
  
Smiling happily, she went to the door and knocked, as the kitchen girls usually kept it locked, just in case. There was a burglar last month again, and they finally figured out that it was the same people, and they kept sneaking in the back, while the girls were in the front. They were arrested, but no one wanted to take any more chances.  
  
Millie left her pot and opened the door. Her eyes lit up when she saw Sidetracked and reached to give the girl a hug. "Becky! I heard about what you said to Mr. Arnold. I was so proud. I've wanted to do it for years, but I just *couldn't* say things like that to him. I wouldn't know what to do afterwards, either. Where *are* you going to live, Beck?"  
  
"I'm gonna be a newsie now...wait a minute, what *did* you hear about me getting fired?"  
  
"Maggie told me that she'd heard that you called him a fat, old, cow and then you ran out. She said that you even...well, she said that you said a bad word." Millie finished the last bit in a whisper.  
  
"Yeah, I cussed, but I didn't call him anything...at least I don't think I did. All I did was refuse to call the bulls on some poor newsie who was taking a nap on some of the seats. He fired me...said if either one of us ever showed up here again, he'd have us both arrested."  
  
Millie grew horrified. "Oh, Becky! Why have you come back? You'll be caught for sure."  
  
"I just want me stuff. Don't worry. We'll be in and out."  
  
"We?"  
  
"Yeah. Me and Racetrack. He's the newsie I told you about. He's waiting by the back fence." Sidetracked began to move towards her closet, Millie moving with her. Opening the door, Sidetracked swept all of her few things into a small pile, grabbing her brown leather satchel last. As Millie watched, now back at the stove stirring her beginning-to-burn vegetable soup that would be her family's dinner, Sidetracked shoved everything in.   
  
As she stood up and gave the closet a once-over to make sure she hadn't left anything, the door to the main room swung open, and they could her Maggie's high, obnoxious voice wafting through. Millie's eyebrows shot up, and Sidetracked bolted towards the door. Halfway there, Maggie began to walk in. Millie stepped in front of her, waving some rags. "Maggs, would you do me a huge favor and wipe of some of the tables? I have to stir this soup for another ten minutes, without stopping, or else it'll be ruined."  
  
"Well, I suppose, but wait till you hear what I heard on the way here this morning. You remember that boy that Becky was having an affair with, the one that got thrown out? Well, he was here this morning, and he actually had the gall to place a bet on the horses. It wouldn't be a problem, you know, soak a few bucks out of him, then call the bulls, but he hit the jackpot! He bet on that horse that belongs to those people who live on that hill back that way, that was named after Becky, and it won! It's never won before and..." Maggie continued on as Millie walked her out the door, keeping herself between Maggie and Sidetracked.  
  
As soon as the door was shut, Millie caught a "Thanks, Mill. See you soon." From Sidetracked as she rushed off to find out what happened to Race.  
  
  
%$@#^#^&%$*%$^&%(*%(&#*%&$@@#%$@&%$*%#^(&%$*)^&*)^&*)(#$!@  
  
  
Spot awoke to the same clangs and bangs he had been woken up by the day before. Getting up slowly, painfully mindful of his wounds, he began to unwrap the bandages. It was as slow and painful as getting out of bed was. He got the ones off his shoulder, but couldn't reach around to his back. He made his way around to the window and yelled out of it. "Savannah? Hey, Savannah, I need... I...um, I can't do this." Spot found it incredibly hard to actually ask for help.  
  
"What do you need?" She asked, appearing in the barn doors.  
  
"The bandages need changing, and I...umm..."Spot trailed off.  
  
"Oh, all right. I'll be right there." Savannah went back into the barn and came out, sans milk buckets and work gloves. A few seconds later, she came through Spot's bedroom door, drying her freshly washed hands on a clean towel. Without even talking, she undid the old bandages, and tied on new ones. The old ones were wrapped in a little ball, and thrown away. "There you go. All finished."  
  
"Good. I want something to eat now, if you could show me where I could get something." Spot 'Brooklyn' Conlon was beginning to get some of his old swaggar back. Savannah didn't like it.  
  
"You know perfectly well where the kitchen is. Go get something yourself." She turned on her heel and halfway ran back to the barn. Spot frowned. 'What the hell was her problem?' He thought, as he put his shirt back on and made his way down the steps.  
  
!@#$@#^%$^&*^&*(&*_(_()*^&^&%%$#@!!@!@@#^%&&*_  
  
I would have listed the reviewers, but ff.net was still on it's upgrade/offline thing when I got this one written up. I was on some sort of...I dunno... Writing Kick, I guess you could call it. I got one chapter of this, two of twisting time (Go read that, if you haven't already. I love it!), and most of a chapter for The Prophesey. (Read that as well....I have been working on it for a while now...last summer, to be specific.) This week's pointless survey:  
  
What's the most asinine thing we could possible do today?  
  
Please write your answer in your review!!! (The best one will be used in another story of mine...probably as a funny something in one of my co-written stories! (Check out my little bio-thingy to get the pen names for those three!) 


	12. In which I get rid of Davey once and for...

Well, even though ff.net is still screwed, and I can't seem to get back into it now that I've uploaded all those other chapters...LOL...but I just have to find out what happens to Spot, Savannah, Jack, Race, Sidetracked, and David. I have decided to explain away David now, since I don't like him...sorry if you do. Go write your own story.  
  
  
@#$^&)(*^#$@!@~*  
  
  
"Jack, see reason! You can't just go killing people."  
  
"Shut up, Mouth." Warned Kid Blink. "He's hell-bent. Just let him go!"  
  
"Blink! I'm surprised at you. How could you just sit by and let him do this.You've got to stop him because..well...you just gotta!"  
  
"Thay ain't gotta do nuthin, Davey." Everyone spun around as Jack finally spoke again. He had been silent since davey had stormed in, twenty minutes earlier. Somehow, he had found out about Jack's threat on the Delancey's. Davey had just barged right in, apparently just taking for granted that he had the right's to be there, and threw open the door to the bunkroom. He had just walked right through the middle, something he had taken to doing everytime he came, no matter what else was going on there. The cards on the 'poker table' blew off and landed all over the floor, so that they could all see the four aces, which ruined Race's hand. The poster of Santa Fe that Jack had stolen out of some side show fell off the door. Then he started telling Jack that he couldn't get his revenge. "So why don't you just go home. Go be with your family. Just make sure no one hurts any of them. Since it's wrong to get revenge."  
  
Davey stood stunned. No one talked to him like that. He was the kid in charge! The David against Goliath! "Don't talk to me like that, Jack. If something happens to your family, I'll be the first to back you up. But your family isn't here, and they never will be again." Davey's voice was getting higher as he went along. He was very angry, and deep down he knew he shouldn't have said that. That the Newsies *were* Jack's family, but it was too late now.  
  
Jack's eyes grew huge, as did Blink's, Mush's, Snipeshooter's, Snap's, Boot's, and Skittery's. They all thought that the newsies were their families, and now David said no. Blink and Mush looked at each other, then lunged at David, knocking him to the ground. Jack whirled around and jumped out the window, on to the fire escape. Snipes walked backwards to his bunk, and collapsed on it, for the first time doubting his 'family'. Snap's couldn't look at Davey anymore, and neither could Skittery. The two went together to the other side of the room, and sat in silence. Boot's just looked at him.   
  
As Mush and Blink each grabbed an arm and hauled him out of the room backwards, Davey caught Boot's eye. The look in them was just like Boot's had looked at Jack when he became a scabber. Betrayed. He had to look away, and his gaze fixed on the hands on his arms. Blink and Mush. Two of the three that were always together. Mind spinning erratically, Davey wondered where Race was.  
  
When the reached the bottom, the boys let go and Davey fell hard down the last two steps. He looked up at them, and was stunned at the hatred he saw there. Mush just turned and walked away, but Blink stepped down to him. Davey was afraid for a second that he was going to be hit, but Blink spoke. "I wanted to hit you back there, Mouth, but family doesn't do that to each other. Get out of here and don't come back to you learn that." Blink went back up with out looking back, and Davey found himself all alone.  
  
Wanting to apologize, but not being wanted, he slowly trudged home.  
  
  
@##$^&)^%@#@~*  
  
  
Spot opened cabinet after cabinet once in the kitchen, but he couldn't find anything to eat. He expected to open the icebox and find something to make a sandwich with, or something he could eat cold, but there was nothing. There were eggs, of course, and milk, but he didn't know how to fix them. He didn't even know how to turn on the stove.   
  
He decided, after a while, that he would just wait for Savannah to come in and make lunch. He grabbed two pieces of bread from one of the cabinets, and a cup of the milk that had already been treated by the plant down the road. He ate, then set back in the chair to wait. For about ten minutes. Then he got bored and decided to go outside and practice his sling-shot aim. But his sling-shot was upstairs. And that meant going up the steps. He thought about doing that for about five more minutes, before deciding against it altogether. Then he was bored again. He wanted to read the papers, find out what was going on. Try to figure up how much money he was loosing while he was holed up here.  
  
He went to the first logical place...the living room. There was nothing there. Actually, there was a lot there, and Spot decided that it warranted further investigation. But not now. Now, all he wanted to do was read the papers. He began to go back, but a small book caught his eye. It was lying at the bottom of a small bookshelf, and it looked as if it had recently fallen off it's shelf. He bent down, slowly enough to avoid hurting his side, and picked it up. He held it in one hand so he could make a space for it with the other, and it accidentally fell open. It was a photo album.  
  
He closed it quick, feeling somewhat intrusive. Then his curiosity got the better of him. With a quick glance out the window, the one in the kitchen, he saw that Savannah was still out in the barn. She hadn't been out there for more then a half an hour, and it usually took about an hour and a half to get the morning chores done, or at least that's what she had told him yesterday, so he figured it was a right safe time to look into her past. Spot went back into the living room, pulled open the curtains, and set himself down into a large, blue armchair, that was closest to his source of light.  
  
On the first page was a pretty flowing script that said Family Album, and underneath that, it gave the dates as 1880-'and the second date was left blank. He turned the page, and saw a lady in a pretty white dress standing with a man in what looke dlike it would have been a brown suit. (The photos from this time period were still black and white, so that's why Spot is guessing at the colors. ~*A) This was obviously their wedding, as the woman was wearing a short veil, flipped back so that you could see her face. It was a very formal shot, and Spot thought that it must have been expensive to have gotten, since it was dated September 28, 1880. On the facing page, there was another photo of the same woman, now very much pregnant. This picture was not as formal as the other, and was taken in this same room. The walls were the same, and most of the furniture. There was an actual caption for this one, instead of just the date. In the same hand as before, it read: Margaret, 1882, with first baby.  
  
The next page held a photo of a tiny baby, wrapped in a blanket. The caption read: Matthew Jacob, born December 3, 1882. The facing page held yet another photo of baby Matthew, this time with his father. The next two pages held a photo of the woman pregnant with her second child, and then the two children together. The caption under that one read: Matthew and Savannah Margaret, born April 17, 1884.  
  
The next page was yet another pregnancy, but this time the woman was sitting down, one of her other children on either side of her. Matthew was now a toddler, and Savannah still very much a baby. The next page held four children, and for a moment Spot thought that he had missed a page. Upon reading the caption, he learned that this time the woman had twin girls. Born on July 25, 1885, their names were Constance Anne, and Gracie Adelaine. The next few pages were shots of the children as they grew up, and Spot was sad as he thought of all these children, save one, being dead. He turned the next page, and saw the woman and the man this time, sitting on the front porch, with their four children standing around them. The caption gave another date along with the names this time, and Spot found that he had just watched eleven years go by in the lives of this family. The caption read: Matthew, 9. Savannah,8. Constance and Gracie, 6. Margaret and Jacob, married eleven years today.  
  
The next picture was of the woman in a large bed surrounded by pillows, holding the tiniest baby Spot had ever seen. The caption read: Margaret and Daniel Alexander, March 30, 1892. The next three pages held more pictures of the children playing, or sitting in a few stiff, formal pictures, with baby Daniel still looking too tiny to be allowed. Then Spot turned the page and his eyes widened. There was a picture of a man in a coffin. The caption read Jacob Alexander, May 19, 1894. The facing page held another photo of the woman and her children, but once again it was as still and professional as the wedding photo. None of them looked very happy, and the caption simply said: June 12, 1896.  
  
The next page was happier. The woman was standing in front of a small school house, with all her children, but Matthew, and several others, children and adults alike. Margaret was right in the center, and Spot could tell by the books in her arms that she was the teacher. The captions were back fully, and this one read: School opens! September 1, 1897. The next page had two smaller photos on it. One of just the children standing out in the schoolyard, and one of Margaret actually teaching. Once again, Matthew was not in the photo. Spot turned the page wanting to see more of the happy-again family, but he frowned deeply again. The next two pictures were taken in one of the bedrooms in this house.   
  
The first one had Margaret, Daniel, and one of the twins in bed. The other twin was sitting on the floor, looking up into the camera with terribly sad eyes, and holding her sick sister's hand. The caption for this one was in a different hand, and it read: Daniel's birthday, 1898. The other picture was even worse, as it had two beds in the room. Margaret, the twins, and a younger, but now recognizable, Savannah, were in one, and the other held a small body, covered in a thin white sheet. The four in the bed were sobbing, and a tall, thin woman with black hair hovered near the edge. She was looking on the family with a sympathetic look in her eyes, mouth covered with a thin white mask. I Ther shadow of a camera was cast across the floor, and Spot could make out the shadow of a boy in a nightdress behind it, presumably Matthew. The caption was by the second hand, and it simply read: April 9, 1989. It was the last photo, and Spot shut the book. He stood and turned, and found himself face-to-face with a teary-eyed, very angry Savannah.  
  
  
!@@#%$^&%^&^&*   
dun dun dun....  
(sorry...I just had ta!)  
!@#$@#%$%$^*  
  
Okay, well....that's the end of this chappie.........and for once, I have nothing to say.*pigs fly by, the fat lady sings, and we decide to go ice skating in the new rink down the street from Satan*  
Useless Poll:  
  
Which do you prefer?  
A) a dead squid  
B) a dead squirrel  
C) a dead fluffy bunny  
  
  
Read? Review!  
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	13. In which a lot of stuff happens and Chel...

I got really bored while waiting for new reviews to help me out, and decided to just whing out chapter thirteen. So thanks to all who reviewed at least once so far, and I'm not signed on now or else I would list you, but you know who you are anyways. Here we go...  
  
!@##^%$^&*(^&*&*_()^&*(  
  
  
David sat as his usual spot at the dinner table but his mood was very much down. It was so bad that even his usually sister, Sarah, picked up on it. "David, dear, what's wrong with you tonight?"  
  
"Nothing." He turned the other direction.  
  
"David. Look, I know there is something wrong with you, and until you feel better, I'm not going to leave you alone." David began to turn again, aghast that Sarah was going to do this. Then she spoke again. "Especially because you're sitting in my best crocheting chair." Davey groaned.  
  
Sarah took this as an expression of grief, caused by whatever was troubling him, and not her, and pressed on. "Is it Denton? I know you have been visiting him an awful lot. Did he get tired of you? Or loose his journalism job? Because if he did, you wouldn't be able to apprentice for him."  
  
"Apprentice? I'm not apprenticing for Denton."  
  
"Don't deny it David. Every time you go over there, you always tell mom you're going to work."  
  
David blushed, and looked a bit panicky, but typically, Sarah didn't notice. "Uhh, yeah. You caught me. I want to be a journalist."  
  
"Ohh! Poor little Davey. Doesn't he want you around anymore?"  
  
"Uhh...yeah. That's it. I feel so much better now, Sarah. Thanks." He rolled his eyes as he walked into the bedroom he shared with Les. As he turned to shut the door, he could see Sarah had already moved to his chair and pulled out her crocheting supplies.  
  
!@#$%*%#!@  
  
  
Ducking into an alley, Sidetracked dropped her knapsack and turned to Race. "You idiot! We could have been caught! Do you know how angry I am at you right now?" She was right livid, and had her hands balled into fists. He was stading very still, biting his lip. She was also stading still, but she was shaking because she was so mad. He didn't know what else to do, so he reached into his pocket, and pulled out the three fives that he had picked up right before making a run for it. He held them up, and smiled.  
  
She was still mad, but he could tell she was getting better. She had stopped shaking, and had her hands on her hips instead of in fists. So he made puppy-dog eyes, and cocked his head to the side, holding the money, fanned out, over his heart. He was absolutely adorable. She melted. "Racetrack, you're rich!" She took that last step towards him, and threw her arms around his neck. With a huge smile, he put his arms around her and they stayed like that for at least ten minutes.  
  
!@#%^^%  
  
  
Spot sat at the table with his lunch of a sole piece of bread. Savannah was angry at him for going through her things. He had tried to tell her that it was on the ground, but it had come out like 'If you'd kept it up off the floor, I wouldn't have...' That's as far as he got before she raised her hand, like she was going to slap him. She didn't, but she did whirl about and run from the room. She hadn't spoken to him since, nearly a full day.  
  
She was currently out in the barn, brushing her horses. Spot had learned, in his time away from the city, that a farm takes an awful lot of work. The day before, after she'd run out, she had taken something out to her garden, and beat the ground in between the rows of plants. When the postman came to call, and she'd run to greet him, she'd said 'Oh, no bother at all. I was just hoeing the garden.' Spot wondered what exactly that was, but his pride kept him from asking.  
  
After that, she gone into the barn again, and had come out with a large metal pail. She went back to the garden, and collected tomatoes and several ears of corn. She then sat on the porch, and cleaned it all. The tomatoes were taken to the cellar, along with most of the corn. She shucked and boiled the rest, and that, along with leftover chicken, was dinner. She didn't even look at him.  
  
Now, on the third and final day of his Millie-ordered house confinement, he was getting very tired of watching the farm work out of his window. Finding nothing to do but eat bread in the kitchen, he wandered back into the living room. He noticed that the picture album was gone. Nothing else mildly amusing there, he looked at the steps. It was simple enough to 'Hob'-ble(1) down them, but going back up was another story entirely. He decided he didn't want to attempt it right now, and went on to find out what was behind them-a place he hadn't ventured as of yet.  
  
The first room he came to was just a closet, located under the steps. It was full of various cleaning supplies, and what looked like very old, torn up clothes. The second room was a bed room, one of the ones from the photos of the sickrooms. Spot got a cold feeling as he looked in, and shut the door quickly. The last room was the area behind where the kitchen was. It had to be the largest room in the house. It was full of ghostly shapes, and dust covered toys. The shades were firmly shut on the three large windows, and from the cobwebs on the switch, the lights hadn't been lit for nearly a year.  
  
Upon flicking the switch, Spot found that it only worked the lights on that wall, and the rest were on a different switch. Spot wondered why. He gave up on that unproductive line of thought, and went on to see what the ghostly shapes really were. Pulling off the sheets, he found several rocking horses, each with the name of a different child carved on the back, three large doll houses, complete with furniture, and one huge, brown teddy bear, about half as tall as Spot, sitting in the corner.  
  
Besides all that, there were all sorts of children's toys, strewn about the floor. There was a bowling game, at least ten decks of cards mixed together, several random stuffed animals, a pair of roller skates, some sort of board game, and a set of tops. Each top looked like it had been painted by a child, and upon closer inspection, he found that each one had been. In an adult hand, the tops had been labeled 'Third birthday of' and then the name of each child.  
  
Spot felt horrible. This family had been so close. Much more than his own, and out of all the newsies back-stories, his family was the closest. He looked at all the toys, left probably just as they were the last time they were played with, and thought of his own home, last visited with Jack, only a month ago. They had a sort of a fight, but neither had spoken of it since. Spot said that he thought it was time to sell the house, but Jack said that he should keep it. It would be a great place to move into, once he was too old to continue selling the papers. Jack also said he didn't know why Spot didn't just live there now. It was all paid for, so there would be no rent due, and it would save him all the money he wasted on the lodging house. Spot had gotten angry, yet he didn't really know why.  
  
Since then, he had worn the key around his neck purely out of habit. Usually, he would sit on the docks, or wherever, and toy with it, but until that day on the way to Doc Flynn's, he had only touched the coin. His thoughts now off on a tangent, Spot reminisced about his aquiring of that particular piece of currency. It was foreign, with a funny writing on it. It was silver, but the center was inlaid with a gold color. There was a picture of a bird of some kind in the gold part. But the funniest thing about it was the holes. Along the edges, there were three small holes, spaced out evenly. Through one of these, Spot had run a piece of string through. He was unconsciously toying with it as he thought of it, and he must have been standing there for ten minutes.  
  
He was jarred out of his thoughts by the barn door sliding shut. Quickly as he could, he put out the lights and threw the sheets over everything. Fourtunatley, Savannah went to the cellar to get something before she came in, or he would have been caught for sure.  
  
#$^$&((*^%*^%^#  
  
  
  
"Come on Jack! You gotta go! Really, I'd prolly be good for ya. All ya do anymore is sell and sit deah." Mush was literally on his hands and knees, pleading for Jack to go to the party at Medda's. "Do it for Race, Jack. He finally hit the big time. Fifteen bucks!"  
  
"Fine. I'll go. But just for a little while. An we gotta stop at Brooklyn first and see if Spot's back." Mush nodded, then smiled wolfishly.  
  
"Sides, I met this goil last night (A/N-Sorry, y'all, but I couldn't resist!) an' I invited her. She's gonna meet us theah at seven. Coise, then I didn't know about Race yet, but hey. She can join the group." Mush looked like he wanted to go on, but just then Race walked back in and everyone started yelling. Race looked so happy, even Jack couldn't resist saying something to him.  
  
  
!@#&#^%^)&(*(&*()^%^#$@@!#!@$^*(^)(*^^(&$%%@$!@$  
Okay, that was really long, and it took me three days instead of the usual one but I had to get Mush's goil in there. There ya are, Chelci!! And even though you like Davey, I still don't! And hey KtStar, thanks for finally getting around to reading. But you know that review box? Use it!! Writetress, thanks for attempting to fix me. I proofread to make sure I don't do anything like that, tho sometimes I miss and I need help. Bluehag, your review made me laugh. But...what cop? Yeah, I figure back then, people weren't supposed to cuss in public, so a girl doing it might make people freak. No, he obviously didn't get arrested. Yeah, she was there. Isn't that how all the stories go? LOL She's not PMSing. There was going to be more to that convo leading up to her getting pissy, but I couldn't think of anything else for them to say. Congrats! You win for the most asinine thing to do! Here's a cookie! (::) MooBug, thanks a bunch. Rebellious Observer, I have to say, I look foreward to your amusing reviews each time I post a new chapter, but you haven't been here since chapter 10! Where have you gone? Are you okay there? And to anyone who reviewed the last two and I haven't said your name, thanks so much for reviewing. I love reviews. They go to power the time machine that I used in my The Book story. (Read it if you haven't, but I urge you to make sure you are extra hyper before you begin!!!)And lastly, thanks to the three people who put me on their favorites list. 


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